IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^/ 


^.«^ 


n^^ 


Lcr 


-i^'- 


k 


1.0 


I.I 


lii|28 

m 

■tt  Uii   12.2 

iM    12.0 


111 

iU 

u 


IL25  HBI.4 


I^tographic 

Sdences 

Corporation 


23  WKT  MAIK  STRUT 

WIUTH.N.Y.  USIO 

(71*)  •73-4503 


^^ 


16 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/iCIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  ly^icroreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


\\ 


Tachnical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notaa  tachniquas  at  bibliograpliiquaa 


Tiia  instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  boat 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturaa  of  this 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographieally  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagas  in  tha 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chaclcad  balow. 


D 


D 


□ 


D 


D 


Colourad  covars/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


I     I    Covars  damagad/ 


Couvartura  andommagAa 


□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  et/ou  pelliculAe 

□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


r~|    Colourad  maps/ 


Cartes  giographlquas  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  blacic)/ 
Encra  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  blaue  ou  noire) 


I     I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  an  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relii  avac  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  nhadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serrie  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marpe  int^riaure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutias 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparnissant  dans  la  taxte, 
mals,  lorsque  cela  4tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  At6  film*es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  la  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  At*  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
da  cat  axamplaira  qui  sdnt  peut-Atra  uniques  du 
point  da  vua  bibliographiqua,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  raproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  cxiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mAthoda  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquAs  ci-dassous. 


nn   Coloured  pages/ 


D 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  ondommagAes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurAes  et/ou  pelliculAes 


pn   Pages  damaged/ 

I     1   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dAcolorAes,  tachetAes  ou  piquAas 


I      I   Pages  detached/ 


Pages  dAtachAes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prif^ 

Quality  inAgale  de  i'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materli 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplAmentaire 

ily  edition  available/ 
ule  Edition  disponible 


rri   Showthrough/ 

r^   Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      j   Includes  supplementary  material/ 

□    Only  edition  available/ 
S9 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  AtA  filmAes  A  nouveau  de  fa^on  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


T 

s 


t 

rll 
rs 
m 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  ost  filmA  au  taux  de  rAduction  indiquA  ci-dessous 

10X                           14X                           18X                           22X 

26X 

30X 

1 

J 

12X 

itx 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

Th«  copy  film«d  iMra  hat  lM«n  r«produc«d  ttMnka 
to  tho  gonorotity  of: 

Library  of  tho  Public 
Archivos  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  fHmi  f ut  raproduit  grica  A  la 
0«n4roaiti  da: 

La  bibliotMqua  daa  Archivaa 
publiquat  du  Canada 


Tha  imagas  appearing  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poasibla  consi<f7i:;ig  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  the  original  i;opy  and  in  kaeping  with  tha 
filening  contract  apacif ications. 


Laa  imagas  suh^antaa  ont  AtA  raproduita*  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattatf  da  l'axamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conf  ormM  avac  las  conditiona  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  ending  on 
tha  last  page  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  covar  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  ara  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  imprea- 
sion.  and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printad 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  «-^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  ▼  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Lee  exemplairas  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^  sont  filmds  en  commen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  at  an  terminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'iliustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  aalon  le  cas.  Tous  las  autres  exemplairas 
originaux  sont  fiimAs  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'iliustration  at  en  terminant  par 
la  darnlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symboles  sulvants  apparattra  sur  la 
darnlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signlfie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signlfie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
filmto  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA.  il  est  filmA  i  partir 
de  I'angie  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  k  droite, 
at  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  la  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

II    ; 
ii 


o — 


f   , 


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1 

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"  Optimum  vita  tenus  eli^ito  nam  consuetudo  faciei 
jttoundiaBimumi" 


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ALIPAs 


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OR, 


MISCILL ANE0U3  8K1TGH£8 


OF 


(D©(OT]S]SEH(DI1§ 


DTJRINa  THE  LATE   AMEBTUAN  WAR, 


FOUNDEO-ON  FACT. 


By  an  Unknown  Author, 


If  I  could  fta'ji,  howe'er  so  little,  to  improve, 
I  'd  6ivo  it  to  the  world  for  benefit. 


SECOND  EDITION. 

NEW-TORK: 
Printed  for  the  Author,  and  for  salo  by  tko  Pookaellers. 

.       M  DCCC  XLI. 


6- 


"O 


".^    ,> 


i 


■« 


: 


•^i-^ 


o 


o 


\ 


The  proceeds  of  this  work,  over  the  ezpensea  of  publishing  to  be 
iq;>proi>ria*ed  to  charitable  purposes. 


l*^0*^^^t%^^0W*0*f^ 


Entered,  ucordiag  to  Act  of  Congren,  in  th«  year  1840, 

BT  BBMBT  LUOWIO,  "'* 

In  the  Qerk*!  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


•         \ 


B.  LODMno,  rjttWTBK, 

78  Veaey-st..  N.  T. 


6" 


■6 


CONTENTS. 


-»«  ^  *t  * 


Chapter  I.— The  parentage  of  Alida— A  deaeriptson  of  hir 

&ther*8  raaideBe^-4She  ia  aent  to  the  Tillage  aehool. 
Chapter  Bi— Alida  loaes  her  mother  and  <me  of  b«r  brothen. 
Chapter  IIL— Alkla  ia  removed  to  a  female  aMuinary  ii  Haw* 

York  to  finiah  har  education— A  deicripti<«  of  her  §tif 

aoryiving  br^er. 
Chapter  IT.— A  war  is  meditated  betweoi  the  Uaitad  0Hktaa 

and  Ckeat  Britain— Cauaei  why  it  waa  expestad  to  taka 

place. 
Chapter  y.—War  declared  in  a  manifttto  by  the  FsmAmt  ii 

the  Unkad  Statap jfiilMt  %4|M  Britaiii--0a9|M  of  fk» 

war  stated. 
Chapter  Vlr-^An  iadiaaoiuble  friendskip-'CelebrmtioB  pf  a 

birth-diqr— DeaeriptioB  of  a  pariah  miniater.  ^ 

Chapter  VIL— Bntrance  of  a  gantlanHtt  on  pioftaitoial  8t«^ 

with  an  eminent  attorney  in  New-Vork. 
Chapter  YIIL— Meetiug  of  two  rivals. 
Chapter  IX.— IMsi^pointment  of  the  rivals.     ^      * 


meetmg* 


Xn.--^:|a#iritiMk 


Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chi^yter 

for  the  wiiii:,"^  J  kino  joiaa  Ika  ar^y 
Rensselaar**A-Klia  baltia  of  Hnaanstwwi   |ji' 
the  Britiah,  aad  atiiit  wkk  a^  priaoaai 
Capture  of  Toik.  ^ 

Chapter  XIV.— MeHniiwfy  rafle«tii9 


% 


^««>f=" 


■^' 


VI 


C  0  NT  B  NTS. 


I 


Kr 


J 


Chapter  XV.— Battle  of  Lake  Brie  and  vietory  ofCoimnodore 
Perry— oBaille  of  Detroit  and  victory  of  General  Harrison. 

Oki^rter  XVL— -PasMge  in  a  Bteamboat  from  New-York  to 
the  village  of  *  *  ^  *— A  buid  of  military  music. 

Cnu4»ter  XVII. — Battle  of  Niagara — Colonel  Miller's  achieve- 
ment— Description  of  the  President— Description  of  Mrs. 
Madison— Battle  of  Bladensburgh. 

Chapter  XVni.— Battle  of  New-Orleans  —  Battle  on  Lake 
Champlain— Hartford  convention — Conclusion  of  peace. 

Chapter  XIX.— The  joyful  celebratim  of  peace  in  New- York. 

Chapter  XX.— A  splendid  entertainment  to  celebrate  the 
event  of  peace 

Chapter  XXL— Proposal  of  an  elopement  and  a  elandestwe 
marriage. 

Chapter  XXIL-rl^aacription  (rf'New-York— Battery— Castle 
Garden. 

Chapter  XXIH.— Alida'i  return  from  the  city  to  the  country. 

Chapter  XXIV.— Alida  returns  to  New- York  and  joins  a  party 
to  visit  the  F^Usof  Niagara— Scenery  of  the  Hudson  river 
—Albany— Schenectady— Union  College. 

Chapter  XXV.— Arrival  at  Utica— Fila  of  Trenton— Singu- 
lar eioavation  of  tha  rooka  of  these  Adls— Return  to  Utica 
—Journey  in  a  atage-eoacli— Salt  Lake — Salt  spring  at 
Salina  — Arrival  at  Auburn— Cayuga  Lake  —  Seneca 
Falls— Geneva — Canandaigua- Arrival  at  Rochester — 
GenessfKS  river— Arrival  at  Lockport— Journey  in  a  dear- 
born-*^rand  Island. 

Oiil»t«r  XXVL— Buffklo-^Arriip^^^  i|phester-.Eagle 
Tavem-JVlte  of  Niagara^-^ltl  Ifliii^^ 

ftom  tha  Canada  te  l|u»  AmarlBan  side— For- 


te Lake  Champlain 

or  CHenn's  Falls— Arri- 

ilrodttction  to   the 

frflum  Saratoga 


^:al^^'iirftto{ 
r4mei 


'm 


CQITTSVTS^ 


tH 


to  AllNUiiy— Pftmg*  u^  the  rivnr  to  CttakiO-^nMi 
ch«rd— Putffe  from  Catddll  to  HudwNH- Pi 
Hudson  to  Weat  Poiot— Militafj  Mhool  at  Wofk 
Foft  Putmuia— PauBMge  from  Wott  P<Miit  to  Neir»T< 
AlidaVi  return  to  her  natire  residenco. 

Chapter  XXVm.— Sicknen  and  death  of  Alida't  lhther--Bo» 
flectiona. 

Chapter  XXIX.— Albert,  the  only  aurvhring  brother  cfAXidm^ 
takea  poweeskm  of  the  paternal  eatate. 

Chapter  XXX.— Effect  of  miarepreaentation. 

Chapter  XXXI.--Return  of  a  friend— The  joyful  meeting. 

Chapter  XXXU. — ^Anticipated  happineaa. 

Chapter  XXXIII. — A  candid  confeaaion. 

Chapter  XXXIV.— Reatoration  of  former  fortune. , 


*'¥' 


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^'"^"^mmsmH: 


ALUPA 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Rien  n'est  si  contagieux  qui  Uexemple ;  et  nous  ne  faisom 
jamab  de  grand  biens :  ni  de  grand  maux,  qui  n*ea  produisent  de 
semblables." 

The  ancestry  of  Alida  was  of  ancient  date 
in  English  Jieraldry,  some  of  whom  emigrated 
to  America  a  short  time  before  the  revolution, 
and  settled  in  the  southern  provinces,  while  her 
father  fixed  his  abode  in  the  state  of  New- York. 

In  the  calm  retirement  of  the  country,  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  bustle  of  the 
own,  was  situated  his  beautiful  residence,  which 
had  every  advantage  in  point  of  prospect  that 
luxuriant  nature  could  give  when  it  is  mo^t 
lavish  of  its  bouhties. 

The  mind  of  its  owner  took  particular  de- 
light in  rural  pleasures  and  amusements ;  in  dis- 
sipating a  part  of  his  time  in  the  innocent  scenes 
of  rustic  life,  and  in  attending  to  the  cultivation 
of  his  estate,  which  was  large  and  extensive. 

Here  he  would  contemplate,  in  all  their  variety, 
the  natural  beauties  of  creation,  when  arrayed  in 

1 


A  L  I  D  A. 


its  richest  attire ;  in  the  inimitable  splendour  o( 
the  surrounding  scenery ;  or  amuse  himself  in 
attendance  to  diversified  employments,  some  of 
which,  as  pastimes,  served  the  twofold  purposes 
of  recreation  and  amusement. 

Thus  his  years  glided  on  in  the  most  harmo- 
nious tranquillity ;  where  his  cares  were  dissi- 
pated alternately  in  the  bosom  of  his  family, 
and  the  <<  tumults  of  life,  real  or  imaginary, 
fleeted  away  in  a  mutual  confidence  and  unre- 
served friendship."  \ 

Here  he  would  accustom  himself  to  rise  at 
early  dawn,  and  dwell  with  particular  pleasure 
on  the  morning  scenery.  The  dappled,  rosy- 
fingered,  blushing  morn,  arrested  his  attention ; 
those  mild  tints  that  particularly  express  the 
break  of  day,  just  awakening  from  repose ; 
when  the  curtain  of  the  night  seems  insensibly 
withdrawn,  and  the  varied  landscape  exhibits 
itself  by  degrees,  while  the  colours  of  the  atmos- 
phere yet  seem  doubtful,  and  the  scene  imper- 
fect to  the  view ;  when  the  darkness  is  not  en* 
tirely  fled,  nor  the  light  of  the  new  day  is  fully 
seen ;  when  coolness  sits  upon  the  hills,  and 
the  dews  hang  trembling  upon  every  leaf; 
when  the  groves  begin  to  resound  with  the  mur- 
murs of  warbling  melody,  and  the  valleys  echo 
with  reverberated  sounds. 


mw 


mmm^m 


A  L  I  D  A. 


How  pleasing  at  such  a  time  to  adore  in  his 
works  the  wonders  of  the  Creator.  That  period 
when  the  sun  begins  to  diffuse  his  early  rays, 
to  tip  the  mountains  with  light,  and  the  breezes 
in  the  air  mildly  prognosticate  the  soft  blushes 
of  the  morning : 

"  For  far  beyond  the  pageantry  of  power, 
He  loved  the  realms  of  Nature  to  explore ; 
With  lingering  gaze  Edenian  spring  survey'd — 
Mom's  fairy  splendours^  Night's  gay.curtain'd  shade ; 
The  heav'n>embosom*d  sun :  the  rainbow's  die. 
Where  lucid  forms  appear  to  fancy's  eye ; 
The  vernal  flower,  mild  Autumn's  purpling  glow. 
The  Summer's  thunder,  and  the  W-'nter**  snow." 

Or  when  the  evening  approached,  h«  would  ob- 
serve the  twilight  hour,  which  for  a  time  hangs 
balanced  between  darkness  and  the  pale  rays  of 
the  western  sky,  communicating  a  solemn 
pleasure  to  every  thing  around.  When  evening 
began  to  throw  her  dusky  mantle  over  the  face 
of  nature,  and  the  warm  glow  of  the  summer 
sun  had  departed ;  when  the  stars  were  glisten- 
ing in  the  heavens,  and  the  moon  had  already 
risen,  shedding  its  pale  lustre  over  the  opposite 
islands  ^^  that  appeared  to  float  dimly  among  the 
waves,  the  twinkling  fire-fly  arose  from  the  sur- 
rounding verdure,  and  illumined  the  meadow 
below  with  a  thousand  transient  gems."    The 


A  L  I  D  A. 


rustling  breezes  played  among  the  trees  of  the 
wood,  while  the  aiir  was  filled  with  the  fra- 
grance of  various  flowers,  and  the  sound  of 
melodious  music  was  wafted  from  the  neigh- 
bouring village,  rendered  apparently  more  soft 
and  sweet  by  the  distance. 

The  buildings  on  the  estate  consisted  of  a 
large  mansion-house,  farm-house,  and  an  an- 
cient stone  cottage  that  stood  on  the  margin  of 
the  water,  shaded  by  willow  trees,  and  sur- 
rounded by  romantic  scenery. 

The  charming  appearance  which  nature 
threw  around  the  place  on  which  the  mansion- 
house  was  situated^  was  scarcely  less  interesting 
in  winter  than  in  the  more  gay  and  verdant 
months  of  the  summer  season.  The  falling  of 
the  sDow  and  hail,  and  the  sparkling  icicles  hang- 
ing upon  the  woods  and  shrubbery,  sometimes 
almost  conveyed  the  idea  of  enchantment  to  the 
eye  of  the  spectator. 

The  view  on  all  sides  was  magnificent.  The 
bay,  gently  winding,  glided  into  the  river  be- 
yond, where  ships,  steamboats,  and  craft  of  every 
description  floated  upon  the  waters,  and  gave 
interest  to  the  appearance  of  several  beautiful 
villages  that  were  seen  at  a  little  distance  in 
the  landscape. 

This  villa  was  separated  about  a  mile  <Vom 


AL  I  D  A. 


the  flourishing  village  of 


where  the 


many  white  buildings,  some  of  which  might  be 
called  magnificent,  had  a  remarkably  pleasing 
and  picturesque  appearance,  forming  a  lively 
contrast  with  the  ever-green  trees  with  which 
they  were  interspersed. 

The  house  of  Alida's  father  was  the  seat  of 
hospitality ; — scenes  of  festivity  would  some- 
times have  place  within  its  walls  ; — ^'  music  and 
mirth  would  occasionally  echo  through  its 
apartments."  ^^  father  was  kind,  generous, 
and  benevolent;  while  his  independence,  as- 
sisted by  a  charitable  disposition,  enabled  him 
to  contribute  largely  to  the  happiness  of  others. 
His  manners  were  highly  pleasing,  his  con- 
versation was  interesting,  humorous,  and  in- 
structive; and,  although  at  this  time  he  wag 
rather  advanced  in  years,  yet  the  glow  of  health 
still  shone  upon  his  cheek  and  sparkled  in  his 
eye  ;  and  his  fine  explcsmve  countenance  still 
gave  lustre  to  a  peculiar  dignity  and  energy  in 
his  personal  appearance. 

It  was  now  many  years  since  he  had  made 
this  delightful  spot  his  residence.  He  had  mar- 
ried early  in  life  a  lady  of  engaging  manners, 
and  captivating  beauty,  who  was  amiable,  sen- 
sible, and  pious,  and  whose  mind  was  a  pattern  . 
of  every  female  ercellence,  combined  with  a 

1* 


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i5^!ii^55l£.; 


Ah  1  D  A, 


taste  and  judgment  that  had  been  properly  di- 
rected  by  a  Buitable  education  ; — who  had  been 
taught  to  esteem  no  farther  all  the  acquirements 
and  qualities  of  which  the  human  mind  is  capa- 
ble than  as  they  might  be  conducive  to  enable 
us  to  excel  in  the  duties  of  the  Christian  religion, 
and  cause  us  more  fully  to  experience  "the 
blessings  of  the  truth.'' 

These  parents  had  reared  up  all  their  family 
except.  Alida,  their  youngest  child,  who  at  this 
time  was  placed  at  a  boarding-school,  at  the  vil- 
lage of ,  where  she  was  taught,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  different  studies  belonging  to  a 
Christian  education,  the  French  and  Italian 
languages. 

Their  elder  daughters  had  married,  and  were 
settled  at  some  distance  from  them,  and  their 
two  sons  were  engaged  in  mercantile  business 
in  New- York.  It  was  their  principal  endeavour, 
as  their  thoughts  often  revolved  in  anxious  soli- 
citude for  the  welfare  and  future  happiness  of 
their  children,  to  unite  their  efforts  to  persuade 
them,  and  inculcate  in  their  minds  all  that  was 
praiseworthy,  by  the  immediate  influence  of 
their  own  example,  considering  that  the  pre- 
cepts which  they  taught  them,  however  wise 
and  good,  would  avail  but  little  unassisted  by 
the  aic'  of  example. 


A  L  I  D  A. 


**  Le  mauvau  usage  que  nous  fkiaoni  de  la  vie,  la  d^regle, 
et  la  rend  malheureuie." 

It  was  their  first  care  to  exercise  the  minds  of 
their  children  in  all  the  important  moral  and  re- 
ligious duties ;  to  be  careful  in  due  time  to  regu- 
late their  natural  propensities ;  to  render  their  din- 
positions  mild  and  tractable ;  to  inspire  them 
with  the  love,  respect,  and  implicit  obedience  due 
to  parents,  blended  with  a  genuine  affection 
for  relations  and  friends. 

"  To  endeavour  to .  form  their  first  ideas  on 
principles  of  rectitude,  being  conscious  of  the  in- 
finite importance  of  first  impressions,  and  be- 
ginning early  to  adhere  to  a  proper  system  of 
education,  that  was  principally  the  result  of  their 
own   reflections  and  particular    observations." 

Their  children  were  assembled  annually  to 
celebrate  the  birth-day  of  their  father,  together 
with  other  social  friends  and  acquaintances,  con- 
sisting chiefly  of  those  whose  beneficent  feelings 
were  in  accordance  with  their  own,  in  testifying 
their  gratitude  to  their  Creator  for  daily  benefits, 
blended  with  a  thankful  cheerfulness,  which  is 
the  offspring  of  moral  excellence. 


'wipinr'ip 


8 


A  L  I  D  A. 


CHAPTER  II. 


**  The  scenes  that  once  so  brilliabt  shone  are  past,  and  caa 
return  no  more  to  cheer  the  pensive  heart ;  and  memory  recals 
them  with  a  tear  ;  some  lowVing  cloud  succeeds,  and  all  the  gay 
delusive  landscape  fades.*' 

While  Alida  remained  at  the  village  school, 
surrounded  bv  the  festive  scenes  of  childhood, 
and  pursuing  her  studies  with  assiduous  emu- 
lation, with  the  hope  of  meriting,  in  future  time, 
the  pr^es  of  her  fond  parents,  an  unforeseen 
misfortune  awaited  her  that  no  human  foresight 
could  have  power  to  arrest. 

The  health  of  her  mother  had  been  long  de- 
clining, and  her  illness  at  this  time  increased  so 
far  as  to  render  medical  assistance  useless,  and  baf- 
fled the  skill  of  the  ablest  physicians.  A  trial  so 
new,  so  afflicting,  and  so  grievous  to  her  youthful 
mind,  to  lose  one  of  her  honoured  parents,  and 
to  be  unexpectedly  summoned  to  her  parental 
home  to  receive  the  last  benediction  of  a  beloved 
mother,  and  at  this  early  period  of  her  life  to  be 
deprived  of  her  kind  care  and  protection,  was 
unfortunate  in  the  extreme. 

Every  anxious  solicitude  and  responsibility 
now  rested  alone  upon  a  widowed  father,  who 
mourned  deeply  their  common  bereavement, 
while  he  felt  conscious  that  all  his  fatherly  care 


A  L  I  D  A>. 


and  caresses  could  never  supply  to  Alida  all  the 
necessary  requisitions  that  she  had  unhappily 
lost  in  so  dear  and  interested  a  friend.  When  he 
observed  her  spirits  languish,  and  the  tear  fre- 
quently starting  in  her  eye,  and  her  former  spright- 
ly countenance  shaded  with  the  deep  tinges  of 
melancholy,  he  saw  that  the  cheerfulness  and 
gaiety  of  her  natural  disposition  had  received  a 
powerful  check,  which  promised  to  be  lasting. 

From  this  unhappy  period  she  remained  at 
liome  a  long  time  with  her  father.  In  kindred 
grief  there  was  derived  a  congenial  sympathy, 
and  her  society  contributed  in  some  degree  to 
allay  his  sorrow,  as  the  deep  concern  he  felt  in 
her  welfare  caused  him  sometimes  to  restrain 
the  flow  of  it  in  her  presence.  His  self-exertion 
roused  him  in  a  measure  from  his  lethargy, 
and,  by  thus  assuming  serenity,  to  become  in 
reality  something  more  composed.  Neverthe- 
less, he  would  often  witness  the  excess  of  an- 
guish which  had  taken  place  in  the  bosom  of  his 
child,  and  behold  her  interesting  face  bathed  in 
tears,  and  her  ^outhful  brow  clouded  with  a 
sadness  that  nothing  seemingly  could  dissipate. 

His  situation  now  became  more  sequestered 
than  ever;  he  roamed  in  solitude,  or  pleased 
himself  in  ranging  through  silent  glens  in  lone- 
liness.    His  thoughts  were  absorbed    in  the 


10 


A  ¥«  I  D  A. 


gloomy  experience  of  the  misery  of  a  painful 
separation  from  a  dear  and  beloved  object ;  he 
ivept  for  her  whose  mild  and  winning 
graces  had  power  to  soften  and  illuminate  the 
darkest  shades  of  life,  or  alleviate  the  distressful 
scenes  of  adversity. 

His  mind  was  wholly  absorbed  in  those 
gloomy  reflections  that  scarcely  admitted  a  ray 
of  consolation,  when  the  weekly  newspaper  ar- 
rived from  the  neighbouring  village  ;  he  took 
it  up,  hoping  to  find  something  to  amuse  his 
thoughts  ;  he  opened  it  to  read  the  news  of 
the  day  ;  he  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  it,  and  was 
about  to  lay  it  aside,  "  when  the  death  list  ar- 
rested his  attention  by  a  display  of  broad  black 
lines,"  and  he,  who  had  not  yet  become  reconciled 
to  his  present  misfortune,  was  now  about  to  ex- 
perience another  equally  severe. 

What  could  equal  his  bitterness,  his  surprise 
and  grief,  when  he  read  the  disastrous  news  that 
his  youngest  son  (who  had  lately  gone  on  a  for- 
eign expedition)  had  died  of  a  fever  in  a  distant 
land  a  few  weeks  previous  I 

The  paper  fell  from  his  palsied  hand, — a  sud- 
den faintness  came  over  him,— he  fell  back  al- 
most senseless  in  his  chair,-— exhausted  by  ex- 
cess of  grieff  he  remained  a  long  time  in  a  stu- 
pifying  anguish. 


A  L  I  D  A. 


11 


The  tidings  were  so  unlooked-for  of  the  pre^ 
mature  death  of  his  unfortunate  son,  who 
about  this  time  was  expected  V  arrive  in  New- 
York.  For  him  an  only  brother  was  incon- 
solable ;  and  Alida,  who  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  his  kindness  and  caresses,  was  over- 
come with  a  dejection  that  time  alone  could 
alleviate. 

Her  father  observed  her  affliction  in  commis- 
seration  with  his  own, — he  was  dejected  and 
lonely,  and  the  world  appeared  like  a  wilderness ; 
nothing  could  lessen  his  present  evil,  or  soothe 
his  afflicted  mind. 

The  former  peaceful  serenity  of  his  life  was 
materially  clouded  ;  and  in  his  turn  calamitous 
wo  had  overtaken  him — the  inalienable  portion 
of  humanity, — and  the  varied  and  shifting 
scenery  in  the  great  drama  of  time  had  brought 
with  it  disaster.  His  spirit  was  sunk  in  de- 
spondency, and  his  sensations  became  utterly 
absorbed  in  melancholy ;  and  all  the  pious 
and  philosophical  reflections  that  he  exerted 
himself  to  bring  to  his  remembrance,  could 
scarcely  afford  even  a  transitory  consolation  in 
this  afflicting  dispensation. 

"  O,  brother  dear,  beloved  of  all, 

For  thee  a  brother's  heart  must  languish ;" 

From  foreign  lands  the  tiding's  borne 
With  pain  to  wako  a  parent's  anguish. 


12 


A  L  I  D  A 


1) 


M 


i'  '-i- 


t.^' 


**  That  eye  of  brightnesi  glows  no  more. 
That  beaming  gUnce  in  night  is  clouded;** 

On  Maracaibo's  distant  shore, 
**  In  death's  dark  celli^'^nkshrouded.** 

Alas !  for  him  no  kindred  near 

In  hopes  to  minister  relief; 
He  sees  no  tear  of  pity  shed, 

He  sees  no  parents*  anxious  grief. 

And  as  still  evening  came  on, 

In  saddest  solitude  and  tears. 
His  thoughts  would  turn  on  distant  home, 

On  peaceful  scenes  and  happier  years. 

He  thought,  too,  what  a  favour*d  clime 
His  gallant  bark  had  left  behind ;  1;, 

He  thought  how  science  there,  sublime, 
Beam*d  her  full  radiance  on  the  mind. 

Though  destined  in  a  stanger*s  land, 
Detain*d  from  all  he  held  most  dear. 

Yet  one  kind  hand,  benevolent, 
Was  found  the  gloomy  hours  to  cheer. 

O,  how  consoling  is  the  eye 

Of  him  who  comes  to  soothe  our  woes ; 
O,  what  relief  those  cares  supply 

Which  a  kind,  watchful  friend  bestows. 

^When  from  this  hand  full  well  he  found 
How  much  can  lenient  kindness  do, 

The  generous  Briton  strives  with  care 
His  drooping  spirits  to  renew. 

Yes,  stranger,  thou  wait  kind,  humane,^ 
With  quick  assistance  prompt  to  move 


A  L  I  D  A. 


13 


To  ear^  the  ling'ring  houra  of  pain, 
In  pity's  kind  endeavour  itroTe. 

When  sickness  o*er  thy  pallid  cheek 
Had  stole  the  lustre  from  thine  eye, 

When  near  the  doubtful  crisis  drew, 
And  life  approach'd  its  latest  sigh,— 

He  moved  thee  to  his  own  retreat. 
In  his  own  mansion  watch'd  thee  there ; 

Around  thy  couch  he  still  remained. 
Thy  drooping  heart  with  hopes  to  cheer. 


n 


**  Peace,  wing'd  in  fahrer  worlds  above, 
Has  ta'en  thy  fonn  away  from  this ; 

Has  beckon'd  thee  to  seats  of  glory, 
To  realms  of  everlasting  bliss. 

So  rich  in  piety,  and  worth. 
Too  soon,  alas !  lamented  one. 

Thou  hast  been  call'd  away  from  earth, 
And  heaven  has  claim*d  thee  for  its  oWn« 


14 


A  LI  D  A. 


CHAPTER  III. 

*<  T  is  by  degrees  tho  youthful  mind  expandf ;  and  every  day^ 
Soft  as  it  roils  along,  shows  some  new  chaim ; 
■   Then  infant  reason  grows  apace,  and  calls 
For  the  kind  hand  of  an  assiduous  care." 
**  Delightful  task,  to  rear  the  tender  thought, 
To  pour  the  new  instruction  o'er  the  mind. 
To  breathe  the  enlivening  spirit,  and  to  fix 
The  generous  purpose  in  the  glowing  breast.**  ~ 

The  period  at  length  arrived,  when  it  became 
necessary  that  Alida  should  receive  further  in* 
structions  ia  the  various  branches  of  female  lit- 
erature. With  this  view,  her  father  thought 
proper  to  change  the  place  of  her  studies  from 
the  village  school  to  the  New- York  Seminary. 

It  was  his  idea  that  nothing  afforded  so  pleas- 
ing a  prospect  as  the  graces  of  beauty,  aided  by 
wisdom  and  useful  knowledge,  and  that  care 
should  be  taken  that  the  mind  should  first  be 
initiated  in  the  solid  acquirements,  before  the 
embellishments  of  education  should  be  allowed 
to  take  up  the  attention  or  engross  the  thoughts  ; 
and  that  the  first  purposes  of  the  teacher  should 
be  directed  to  endeavour  to  cause  the  mental 
powers  of  the  scholar  to  be  excited,  in  the  first 
place,  to  attain  to  whatever  is  most  useful  and 
necessary,  and  that  suitable  application  and  in- 
dustry was  the  only  means  whereby  we  may 


A  L  I  D  A. 


15 


gain  celebrity  in  any  art  or  science,  or  therein 
arrive  at  any  degree  of  perfection. 

^<  His  heart  glowed  with  paternal  fondness  and 
interesting  solicitude,  when  he  beheld  the  coun- 
tenance of  his  child  sparkling  with  intelligence, 
or  traced  the  progress  of  reason  in  her  awaken- 
ed curiosity  when  any  new  object  attracted  her 
attention  or  exercised  her  imagination."  De- 
lightful indeed  were  the  sensations  of  a  parent 
in  the  contemplation  of  so  fair  a  prospect,  which 
in  some  degree  recalled  again  to  his  bosom  some 
transient  gleams  of  happiness. 

The  season  was  now  far  advanced  in  autumn, 
and  the  trees  were  nearly  stripped  of  their  foliage ; 
the  r&diant  sun  had  in  part  withdrawn  his  en- 
livening rays  to  give  place  to  the  approaching 
coldness  of  winter,  when  Alida  left  her  home, 
amid  the  innumerable  regrets  of  her  juvenile 
companions,  to  accompany  her  father  to  the  city 
to  finish  her  education. 

They  journeyed  in  a  stage-coach  from  the 

village  of ,  which,  in  the  course  of  a  few 

hours,  conveyed  them  amid  the  tumultuous  din 
of  the  busy  metropolis.  The  female  seminary 
to  which  Alida  repaired  was  pleasantly  situated 
in  the  western  part  of  the  town,  where  the  re- 
freshing and  salubrious  breezes  of  the  Hudson 


16 


A  L  I  D  A. 


•) 


rendered  it  a  healthy  and  desirable  situation  at 
all  seasons  of  the  year. 

'  Although  her  father  had  only  performed  his 
duty  in  placing  his  child  once  more  at  school, 
yet  it  was  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  paternal 
roof  than  formerly,  and  when  he  returned  again 
to  his  residence,  he  felt  his  situation  more  lonely 
than  ever,  and  hs  could  scarcely  reconcile  him- 
self to  the  loss  of  her  society. 

All  was  novel-like  in  the  city  to  Alida,  where 
she  at  once  saw  so  many  different  objects  to  ex- 
cite alternately  her  surprise,  curiosity,  and  risibi- 
lity, and  where  she  experienced  so  many  different 
sensations,  arising  from  the  sudden  transition  in 
being  removed  from  scenes  of  uninterrupted 
tranquillity  to  those  of  gaiety  and  pleasure,  of 
crowded  streets  and  riotous  entertainments,  of 
obsequious  beaux  and  dashing  petite  maitres, 
and  where  all  appeared  to  her  one  continued 
scene  of  business  and  confusion,  scarcely  recon- 
cileable. 

In  the  meantime  her  mind  became  engrossed 
by  various  new  occupations.  Among  her  fa- 
vourite studies  was  the  French  language,  which, 
at  this  period,  was  considered  as  one  of  the  ne- 
cessary appendages  to  female  education,  when 
scarcely  any  new  work  could  be  read  without  a 
regret  to  those  who  did  not  understand  it.    Mu- 


A  L  I  D  A. 


17 


flic,  dsncing  and  drawing,  occupied  her  time  al- 
ternately, and  while-'tbese  different  amusement9 
aflforded  a  pleasing  variety,  they  animated  her 
mind  anew  with  the  powers  of  exertion  that  had 
been  excited  by  early  impressions — that  whatever 
she  attempted  to  learn,  to  be  assiduous  to  learn 
it  well,  and  that  a  mere  superficial  knowledge, 
in  any  science  or  accomplishment,  was  by  no 
means  desirable. 

All  her  studies  and  amusements  had  their 
regular  arrangements,  and  due  application  gave 
her  many  advantages  over  those  of  her  own  age, 
while  it  expanded  her  mind  in  a  greater  degree, 
and  facilitated  her  progress  in  learning,  and  gave 
more  ready  improvement  to  her  understanding 
and  native  capacities. 

Ker  only  surviving  brother,  whose  name  was 
Albert,  had  been  a  merchant  in  the  city  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  he  still  continued  to  live  amid 
its  perplexities,  (although  numbers  had  been  un- 
fortunate around  him,)  with  as  good  success  as 
could  be  expected  at  this  time,  on  account  of 
the  restrictions  on  American  commerce.  One 
probable  reason  may  be  assigned  why  he  had 
been  more  successful  in  his  business  than  many 
others :  he  was  guided  in  the  management  of 
his  affairs  by  vigilance  and  industrious  perse- 
rance,  and  he  was  not  only  endued  with  the 
2*  ■ 


w 


18 


A  L  I  D  A. 


Vt 


best  abilities  to  fulfil  the  duties  incumbent  on 
his  station  in  life,  but  was  not  reniis«>  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  them.    His  manners,  generally,  were 
reserved,   though  he   Could  be  humorous  and 
gay  whepever  occasion  required  ;  and  when  in 
convivial  society,  he  could  make  one  among 
the  number  of  those  who  amused  themselves 
in  sallies  of  wit  and  pleasantry.    He  had  ac- 
quired much  useful  and  general  information  in 
his  commerce  with  the  world  at  large,  which  he 
employed  at  this  time  in  various  conversations 
on  politics,  as  he  could  not  be  able  to  render 
himself  serviceable  to  his  country  in  any  other 
way,  being  exempt  from  his  childhood  from  per- 
forming military  duty.     His  personal  advan- 
tages were  only  surpassed  by  the  superior  quali- 
fications of  his  mind,  that  had  long  been  under 
religious  influence  and  impressions.      In  his 
public  and  private  life  he  fully  answered  the 
expectations  of  his  numerous  acquaintance  and 
friends,  as  well  as  the  most  sanguine  wishes  of 
an  anxious  and  affectionate  father,   who  yet 
seemed  disposed  to  indulge  in  melancholy  re- 
flections^ while  his  friends  kindly  endeavoured, 
by  many  pious  and  philosophical  discourses,  to 
awaken  him  to  a  consideration  of  his  former 
piety,  and  humble  trust  in  an  all-wise  Provi- 
dence, reminding  him  that  our  greatest  conso- 


A  L  X  D  A. 


J? 


lation  consists  in  resigned  and  devotional  feel- 
ings of  gratitude  to  our  Maker,  even  in  the  se- 
verest afflictions ;  who,  although  he  may  have 
thought  fit  to  deprive  us  of  some,  for  the  many 
remaining  blessings  we  may  still  bv^  in  posses- 
sion of;  and  that  a  firm  reliance  on  Providence, 
however  our  afiections  may  be  at  variance  * 'ith 
its  dispensations,  is  the  only  consolatory  source 
that  we  can  havej'ecourse  to  in  the  gloomy  hoi^rs 
of  distress  ;  and  that  such  dependance,  though 
often  crossed  by  troubles  and  difiOiculties,  may 
at  length  be  crowned  with  success  in  our  most 
arduous  undertakings,  and  we  may  again  meet 
with  unlooked-for  and  unexpected  happiness. 

*'  Afflictions  all  his  children  feel, 
Affliction  is  the  Father's  rod  ; 

He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy  sake, 
He  wounds  to  heal." 

The  clear  calm  sunshine  of  a  mind  illumined 
by  piety,  and  a  firm  reliance  upon  Supreme 
wisdom,  crowns  all  other  divine  blessings.  It 
irradiates  the  progress  of  life,  and  dispels  the 
evils  attendant  on  our  na(.ure ;  it  renders  the 
mind  calm  and  pacific,  and  promotes  that  cheer- 
fulness and  resignr^tion  which  has  its  foundation 
in  a  life  of  re.atude  and  charity ;  and  i:.i  the 
full  exercise  of  Christian  principles  we  may  find 
still  increasing  happiness. 


^0 


A  L  I  D  A. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Still  may  the  soaring  eagle's  quenchless  eye, 

Watch  o'er  our  favourM  country,  brave  and  free, 
Where  the  bright  stars  and  stripes  in  honour  wave, 
The  sacred  emblems  of  our  liberty." 

Many  disagreeable  circumstances  now  com- 
bined to  disturb  the  happy  tranquillity  of  the 
American  government.  "  A  war  had  for  some 
time  existed  between  France  and  England. 
America  had  endeavoured  to  maintain  a  neutral- 
ity, and  peacefully  to  continue  a  commerce  with 
both  nations.  Jealousies,  however,  arose  between 
the  contending  powers  with  respect  to  the  con- 
duct of  America,  and  events  occurred  calculated 
to  injure  her  commerce  and  disturb  her  peace. 

"  Decrees  were  first  issued  by  the  French  gov- 
ernment preventing  the  American  flag  from 
trading  with  the  enemy ;  these  were  followed 
by  the  British  orders  in  council,  no  less  exten- 
sive than  the  former  in  design,  and  equally  re- 
pugnant to  the  laws  of  nations.  In  addition  to 
these  circumstances,  a  cause  of  irritation  existed 
some  time  between  the  United  States  and  Great 
Britain.  This  was  ^he  right  of  search  claimed 
by  Great  Britain  as  one  of  her  prerogatives.  To 
take  her  native  subjects,  wherever  found,  for  her 
navy,  and  to  search  American  vessels  for  that 


A  L  I  D  A 


21 


purpose.  Notwithstanding  the  remonstrances 
of  the  American  government,  the  officers  of  the 
British  navy  were  not  unfrequently  seen  seizing 
native  British  subjects  who  had  voluntarily  en- 
listed on  board  our  vessels,  and  had  also  impress- 
ed into  the  British  service  some  thousands  of 
American  seamen. 

"In  consequence  of  the  British  and  French  de- 
crees, a  general  captureof  all  American  property 
on  the  seas  seemed  almost  inevitable.  Congress, 
therefore,  on  the  recommendation  of  the  presi- 
dent, laid  an  embargo  on  all  vessels  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  United  States. 

"  In  a  moment,  the  commerce  of  the  American 
republic,  from  being,  in  point  of  extent,  the  se- 
cond in  the  world,  was  reduced  to  a  coasting 
trade  between  the  individual  states.  The  oppo- 
sition to  the  act  in  several  of  the  states  was  so 
great  that  they  unanimously  declared  against 
it,  and  individuals  throughout  the  whole  seized 
every  opportunity  of  infringement;  therefore 
Congress  thought  proper  to  repeal  the  embargo 
law,  and  substituted  a  non-intercourse  with 
France  and  England." 

It  was  now  generally  expected  that  the  ses- 
sion in  Congress,  with  the  decision  of  the  presi- 
dent, would  eventually  terminate  in  actual  hos- 
Thp  HifTirnlties  the  chief  executive  had 


♦  •'•♦^r»r» 


22 


A  L  I  D  A. 


to  encounter  were  many  and  perplexing,  being 
fully  convinced,  under  existing  circumstances, 
that  the  Americans  must  engage  in  combat  after 
all.  He  therefore  knew  it  to  be  necessary  to 
rouse  the  feelings  of  the  American  people,  to 
realize,  more  clearly  than  they  did,  the  true  sit- 
uation of  their  country,  that  they  might  be  pre- 
pared for  the  approaching  crisis  that  he  believed 
unavoidable. 

This  period  was  full  of  anxiety  and  danger. 
A  war  was  deprecated  by  all  the  leading  patriots 
of  the  day ;  they  were  fully  persuaded  that  it 
must  take  place  ;  they  therefore  unitedly  deter- 
mined to  prepare  for  the  storm  in  the  best  man- 
ner they  were  able.  All  material  business  was 
in  a  manner  suspended  in  New- York ;  the  face 
of  things  wore  a  dismal  aspect,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  community  were  in  dismay.  A 
heavy  gloom  hung  over  the  inhabitants  gene- 
rally, while  all  their  afTairs  appeared  in  a  declin- 
ing state,  discouraging  to  the  industry  and  best 
prospectd  of  the  people. 

Alida's  father  was  no  friend  to  political  con- 
troversy, yet  he  passed  much  of  his  time  in  con- 
versing with  his  friends  on  the  present  affairs  of 
America.  He  knew  that  party  spirit  and  ani- 
mosity existed  more  or  Ibss  at  this  time,  and  that 
he  must  consequently  often  meet  with  those  of 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


23 


opposite  opinions ;  yet  his  honest  and  patriotic 
zeal  for  the  good  of  his  country  still  remained 
the  same.  He  was  attached  to  lilierty  from  prin- 
ciple;  he  had  talents  to  discriminate  and  see 
into  the  justice  of  the  measures  of  government ; 
his  retirement  gave  him  full  opportunity  to  re- 
flect on  them  seriously,  and  solve  them  in  his 
own  mind,  and  see  their  absolute  necessity,  in 
order  to  maintain  the  honour,  freedom,  and  in- 
dependence of  the  American  nation.  Would 
the  same  wisdom  in  the  government  continue 
that  had  so  nobly  preserved  us  since  our  inde- 
pendence ?  But  he  had  no  reason  at  present  to 
suppose  otherwise,  and  that  he  who  now  guid- 
ed the  helm  of  affairs,  was  one  of  steady  and  un- 
corrupt  principles,  of  stable  character,  altogether 
uninfluenced  by  any  sinister  views,  and  was 
willing  to  sacrifice  his  individual  repose  for  the 
noble  purpose,  and  with  the  hope  of  settling  it 
again  on  the  nation,  with  a  flrmer  basis,  at  some 
future  period,  when  the  expected  contest  should 
be  decided. 

What  feelings  of  commotion  and  deep  anxiety 
must  agitate  the  bosom  of  the  magnanimous 
hero  who  is  labouring  truly  for  the  interest  of 
his  country,  and  is  actuated  alternately  by  tho 
claims  of  justice  and  humanity,  and  on  whom 
a  whole  community  must  depend  for  council  in 


24 


A  L  I  D  A  • 


\ . 


#• 


cases  of  severe  emergency,  when  his  chief  satis- 
faction consists  in  promoting  the  interest  and 
welfare  of  that  community.  When  the  hour  of 
exigency  arrives,  his  mind,  endued  with  the 
light  of  piety,  feels  its  own  littleness,  his  weighty 
thoughts  are  big  with  the  impending  danger 
that  no  human  arm  may  be  able  to  arrest 
Impressed  with  religious  awe,  and  feeling  con- 
scious of  his  dependence  for  aid  on  the  all-wise 
Disposer  of  events,  he  bends  in  humble  suppli- 
cation to  implore  the  favour  of  that  great  and 
beneficent  Being  whose  power  alone  can  save, 
and  in  whose  mighty  arm  alone  is  victory. 

The  father  of  Alida  received  regular  intelli- 
gence by  the  daily  papers  respecting  the  political 
excitement  in  New- York ;  besides,  he  made  fre- 
quent visits  to  the  city  to  see  his  several  chil- 
dren, as  one  of  his  daughters  had  resided  there 
since  her  marriage.  There  was  every  kind  of 
conveyance  at  the  neighbouring  village  suited  to 
the  accommodation  of  travellers,  both  s*  .mmer 
and  winter,  and  the  rapid  improvement  of  the 
town  had  long  been  a  current  topic  of  the  in- 
habitants as  well  as  visiters,  while  they  praised 
the  proprietor  of  the  new  hotel,  in  his  manner  of 
conducting  it  and  his  excellent  accommodations ; 
and  it  was  the  general  opinion  that  in  the  course 
'^f  a  few  years  this  woidd  become  a  place  of  no 
small  consideration. 


'**iif' 


A  L  I  D  A 


25 


CHAPTER  V. 


**  Of  who  that  sighs  to  join  the  scenes  of  war  ? 

If  heaven-born  pity  in  thy  bosom  glow. 
Reject  the  inipurpled  wreath ;  the  laurel  crown 
Can  flourish  only  in  the  scenes  of  ^o.*' 

At  length  it  became  the  unhappy  fate  of  Ame- 
rica to  be  a  second  time  involved  in  a  war  with 
Great  Britain.  ^^  In  a  manifesto  of  the  president, 
the  reasons  of  the  war  were  stated  to  be  the  im- 
pressment of  American  seamen,  by  the  British ; 
the  blockade  of  the  enemy's  ports,  supported  by 
no  adequate  force ;  in  consequence  of  which  the 
American  commerce  had  been  plundered  in 
every  sea ;  and  the  British  orders  in  council." 

The  declaration  of  war  was  a  source  of  una- 
voidable regret  to  the  good  and  wise  president,* 
which  affected  his  mind  with  feelings  approach- 
ing to  melancholy.  No  one  possessed  quaUties 
more  inclined  to  peace,  and  a  wish  to  settle  all 
affairs  of  state  in  a  pacific  manner,  more  than 
he  did,  if  it  were  possible,  and  it  could  have 
been  done  without  sacrificing  all  the  dearest 
rights  and  interests  of  the  people ;  and  nothing 
but  these  repeated  persuasions  in  his  mind,  found- 
ed  on  the  principles  of  justice  and  honoufi 

*  James  Madison. 

3 


26 


A  L  I  D  A. 


i 


\ 


caused  him  at  length  to  be  willing  to  yield  to  the 
stern  neassity  of  deciding  the  existing  differ^ 
ences  by  combat.  He  possessed  the  qualities  of  a. 
statesman  in  an  eminent  degree ;  he  had  well 
reflected  on  what  he  considered  as  inevitable. 
He  was  well  versed  in  political  science,  and  now 
only  saw  the  realization  of  anticipated  events,  of 
which  there  had  been  sufficient  warning.  Al- 
though he  had  to  contend  with  innumerable 
difficulties,  having  once  formed  his  opinion  of 
what  was  to  be  done,  his  patriotism  was  unde- 
viating,  and  his  integrity  inflexible. 

Since  his  country  was  again  brought  to  a  la- 
mentable destiny,  he  now  became  ardently  ac- 
tive in  its  cause,  and  was  prepared  to  carry  to 
the  full  extent  such  measures  of  defence  and 
resistance  as  should  be  necessary  to  repel  every 
invasion  of  the  just  rights  and  privileges  of  the 
Americans  that  they  had  long  been  in  possession 
of  since  their  dear-bought  independence,  and 
could  not  therefore  be  willing  to  submit  to  any- 
thing like  oppiession,  particularly  from  the  mo- 
ther country. 

This  national  calamity,  that  seemed  to  awak- 
en feelings  of  hilarity  to  some  few  among  the 
multitude,  but  those  of  the  deepest  regret  to  so 
many  others,  where  the  parties  must  at  length 
become  personally  engaged  and  animated  against 


I   '; 


i    ., 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


27 


each  other  with  an  enthusiastic  ardour,  and  with 
the  hope  to  signalize  themselves  by  their  bra- 
very— where  the  impetuosity  of  youth  and  the 
experience  of  age  are  called  forth  in  open  field 
to  execute  the  decided  discussions  of  government, 
and  to  engage  with  patriotic  zeal  in  the  com- 
mon defence  of  their  just  rights  and  liberties  ; 
impelled  with  ambitious  impulse  to  enlist  them- 
selves under  the  proud  banners  of  their  country, 
while  the  sound  of  martial  music  strikes  a  feel^ 
ing  of  enthusiasm  and  enterprise  to  the  bosom 
of  the  patriot. 

Thus,  in  the  name  and  cause  of  honour,  the 
youth,  generous  and  brave,  with  all  those  who 
are  compelled  to  take  arms,  sally  forth  with  the 
ambitious  hope  to  bear  down  at  once  all  contend- 
ing opposition,  and  give  themselves  no  time  to  re- 
flect on  the  many  disconsolate  ones  they  leave 
behind  them,  that,  however  deeply  concerned, 
can  neither  engage  or  assist  in  the  shocking  con- 
test ;  while  they  go  forward  hastily  to  meet  the 
foe,  and  hosts  are  advancing  to  dispute  with 
them  the  victory,  and  they  can  indulge  no 
thought  concerning  those  who,  when  the  battle 
is  over,  may  have  to  lament  the  loss  of  a  father, 
brother,  or  some  other  dear  friend,  and  who 
mournfully  await  the  decisive  tidings,  which 
perhaps  is  to  render  them  for  ever  disconsolate ; 


28 


A  L  I  D  A. 


i 


1  ■   ' 


i  I 


I 


:  '■: 


f. 


M 


while  they  remain  a  prey  to  that  incessant  an- 
guish which  naturally  awaitr  those  who  have 
lost,  in  this  manner,  their  dearest  friends  and  re- 
lations. 

Thick  clouds  were  darkly  pending 

Above  the  battle  fray, 
And  foemen  were  contending 

For  the  fortune  of  the  day. 

And  high  in  air  the  banner  bright, 

Waving  o'er  land  and  sea, 
The  potent  symbol  of  their  might. 
The  emblem  of  the  free.  "\ 

Brave  hearts  that  stood  amid  the  storm 

That  burst  in  fury  round ;' 
With  many  a  stern  and  manly  form, 

Sunk  powerless  to  the  ground. 

Deep  gloom  had  settled  round  them. 

And  darkness  veil'd  the  sky, 
When  Freedom,  with  her  starry  train, 

Descended  from  on  high. 

When,  at  her  bidding,  lo,  a  chief 

Amid  the  throng  appear'd ; 
When,  the  goddess  halted  by  his  side, 

And  thus  his  spirits  cheer'd : 

««  Oh,  let  not  care  oppress  thee, 

But  banish  far  thy  fears. 
For,  m  blessing,  I  will  bless  thee, 

And  will  wipe  away  thy  tears  ; 

"  And  a  banner  thou  shalt  still  retain, 
And  a  hand  to  lead  the  brave 


I 


,  A  L  I  D  A. 

To  glory  and  to  victory. 
Or  to  the  hero's  grave. 

**  Then  fear  not,  honoured  chieftain, 

For  yet  again  shall  be, 
Your  flag  shall  wave  o'er  every  land. 

And  float  on  every  sea. 

»» What  though  in  foreign  clime  it  waves, 

Canecring  on  the  wind, 
Whatever  shore  the  ocean  laves, 

A  due  respect  will  find. 

"  And  the  thunders  of  your  ships  of  war 

Along  the  deep  shall  roll, 
While  the  canvas  of  your  merchantmen 

Shall  sweep  from  pole  to  pole. 

**  And  now,  oh  gallant  chief,"  she  cried, 
"  Hold  fast  the  glorious  prize  ; 

The  flag  with  blue  and  crimson  dyed. 
And  stars  that  gemmed  the  skies, 

"  Have  left  their  native  spheres  to  shed 
Their  radiance  o'er  the  field ; 

Then  while  it  waves  above  your  head, 
To  the  foeman  never  yield. 

"  Bright  forms  shall  hover  o'er  thee 
In  the  midst  of  war's  alarms ; 

And  in  triumph  shall  restore  thee 
To  a  nation's  waiting  arms. 

*»  Then  on  to  Freedom's  stormy  height, 
Go  forth  in  valour  and  in  might. 
And  bear  aloft  this  emblem  bright, 
Amid  the  battle  fray." 

3*  » 


29 


ir 


30 


A  L  I  D  A. 


!  I 


I 


i  I 


(V 


:/ 


}i 


Now  ftroiind  their  chief  they  rally, 
And  with  zeal  their  bosoms  glow ; 

While  the  hoarse  cannon  bellows  forth 
Defiance  to  the  foe. 

The  battle  rages  loudly, 

A  dreadful  carnage  flows ; 
When  the  messenger  of  victory 

The  clarion  trumpet  blows. 

Now  clap  your  wings,  oh  Liberty, 
And  upward  take  your  flight ; 

And  let  the  gladsome  tidings  ring 
Throughout  the  realms  of  light. 

And  bid  your  eagle  sound  her  cry, 
Wide  o'er  the  land  and  sea ; 

For  patriot  arms  have  triumphed. 
And  the  nation  still  is  free. 

Once  mor  -^  the  song  of  victory 
Shall  spread  the  earth  around. 

And  the  freemen  on  a  thousand  hills 
Re-echo  back  the  sound. 

And  a  br\uner  long  shall  wave  on  high, 
And  long  your  children  stand, 

United,  with  a  sacred  tie, 
To  guard  their  native  land. 


h 


A  L  I  D  A. 


31 


CHAPTER  VI. 


•*  And  may  each  day  returning,  with  it  bring 
That  peace  that  o*er  the  weary  senses  fling 
A  calm  content ;   where  no  alloy  attends 
The  pleasing  intercourse  of  happy  friends." 

Albert,  the  brother  of  Alida,  during  his  resi- 
dence in  New- York,  had  formed  an  indissoluble 
friendship  with  a  young  gentleman  who  had 
lately  graduated  at  Columbia  College.  His 
name  was  Theodore.  He  was  about  twenty 
years  of  age :  he  had  been  esteemed  an  excel- 
lent student.  His  appearance  was  manly,  open, 
and  free.  His  eye  indicated  a  nobleness  of 
mind ;  he  was  naturally  cheerful,  although  his 
aspect  was  tinged  with  melancholy,  and  his  dis- 
position was  rather  of  the  romantic  cast.  His 
father  was  an  eminent  merchant  in  the  city, 
and  had  long  been  engaged  in  the  various 
scenes  of  commerce.  His  son  was  designed  for 
the  law  ;  but  as  the  students  were  allowed  some 
vacant  time  after  their  graduation  before  they 
entered  upon  their  professional  studies,  he 
thought  to  improve  this  interim  in  mutual 
friendly  visits,  mingling  sometimes  with  select 
parties  in  the  amusements  of  the  day,  and  in 
travelling  through  some  parts  of  the  United 
States. 


\L 


32 


A  L  I  D  A. 


i 


, ' 


The  spring  was  advancing,  and  already  be- 
gan to  shed  its  cheering  infli  nces  over  the 
face  of  nature,  whei,  after  a  long  period  of 
clouds  and  darkness,  tho  dun,  with  his  illumin- 
ating beams,  was  chasing  away  the  gloomy  re- 
mains  of  winter,  and  recalling  again  to  life  and 
animation  the  ianumerable  beauties  of  creation. 

The  day  was  fixed  on  w'-cu  Alida  was  to  re- 
turn to  her  native  resideuv^e.  Albert  was  to  at- 
tend her  home,  and  he  invited  his  friend  Theo- 
dore to  accompany  him.  It  was  evening  when 
they  arrived  at  the  house  of  Albert's  father, 
where  they  found  considerable  company  collect- 
ed, as  was  customary  on  the  ceiebralion  of  his 
Hirth-day. 

He  received  his  children  with  gladness  and 
joy,  and  Theodore  with  friendly  politeness. 

*  This  meeting  must  be  highly  pleasing  to  you, 
madam,"  said  Tiieodore  to  Alida,  ^' after  your 
lor<y  absence  from  home."  ^'  It  is  so  indeed,"  re- 
plied she,  "and  highly  gratifying  to  my  father,  to 
meet  here  his  children,  and  relations,  on  the  a  .- 
nual  occasion  of  celebrating  his  birth-day,  when 
we  are  honoured  with  so  numerous  a  company  of 
uncles,  aunts,  cousins,  nephev^s,  and  nieces,  that 
one  would  suppose  we  were  connected  with  half 
the  families  in  the  state.  And  sometimes  they 
do  not  all  leave  us,  in  several  weeks  afterwards, 


■>  ■; 


A  L  I  D  A. 


33 


land  regale  themselves  in  riding  about  the  coun- 
try and  visiting  the  neighbours  in  tlie  vicinity." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  iiey  were  joined 
by  a  number  from  the  neighbouring  villages, 
aad  among  the  rest  was  the  son  of  a  gentleman 
who  had  been  long  acquainted  with  the  family. 
He  was  a  gay  young  man ;  his  address  was 
easy;  his  manners  rather  voluptuous  than  refined ; 
confident,  but  not  ungraceful. 

He  led  the  ton  in  fashionable  circles,  and  was 
quite  a  favourite  with  the  ladies  generally.  His 
name  was  Bonville.  He  had  seen  Alida  long 
before,  but  her  additional  graces  since  that  time 
appeared  far  to  exceed  his  expectations. 

Alida  at  sixteen  displayed  many  pleasing  at- 
tractions. Her  height  rose  to  the  majestic.  She 
was  tall  and  graceful,  and  her  expressive  features 
were  adorned  with  hair  of  light  auburn,  which 
hung  about  her  neck  in  natural  ringlets  ;  while 
her  darK  blue  eyes,  mingled  at  once  the  rays  of 
epdghtly  intelligence,  and  a  pleasing  affability. 

Shf  was  arrayed  on  this  occasion,  in  a  dress 
of  white  muslin,  richly  inwrought  with  needle- 
work. A  silk  embroidered  sash  surrounded  her 
waist,  and  she  v  ore  on  her  head  a  wreath  of 
artificial  flowers.  Her  elder  sisters  manifested 
their  pleasure  in  beholding  the  artless,  unadorned 
school-girl,  metamorphosed  to  the  interesting 


34 


A  L  I  D  A 


i  ! 


I 


young  lady  of  fascinating  manners  and  amiable 
deportment. 

Social  converse  and  rural  amusements  took 
up  the  greater  part  of  the  evening,  when  the  gene- 
ral conversation  of  the  gentlemen  turned  upon  a 
topic  in  which  they  were  all  more  or  less  inter- 
ested, on  what  might  be  the  unhappy  result  of 
the  present  contest,  in  which  the  American  na- 
tion was  engaged,  which  continued  to  engross 
their  thoughts^  and  it  was  a  late  hour  when  the 
company  separated. 

Those  who  remained  behind  accompanied 
Alida  on  the  next  Sabbath  to  the  village  church, 
where  they  were  witnessciof  an  able  and  subUme 
discourse  delivered  by  the  parish  minister ;  high- 
ly edifying  to  the  understanding  and  improving 
to  the  minds  of  the  hearers. 

This  divine  was  fully  competent  in  the  pos- 
session of  Christian  principles  and  knowledge 
for  his  arduous  calling,  and  had  a  happy  talent 
of  conveying  them  to  others  with  effect,  and  com- 
municating them  in  persuasive  ebquence,  for 
the  benefit  and  reformation  of  mankind. 

His  powers  of  intellect  and  sentiments  were 
no  less  liberal  and  enlarged,  than  they  were  in- 
genious and  elegant.  His  aspect  was  serene, 
and  his  manners  were  cheerful,  and  the  unruffled 
calmness  of  his  mind  bore  the  same  character 


A  L  I  D  A. 


35 


of  exalted  excellence,  and  gave  testimony  of  a 
peaceful  bosom,  rich  in  good  works. 

He  manifested  a  lively  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  his  congregation,  and  by  his  genuine  benevo- 
lence and  pious  example  made  many  proselytes. 

It  was  his  endeavour  to  unite  the  minds  of  the 
people  in  one  interest,  and  excite  them  to  be  zea- 
lous in  the  common  cause  of  Christianity^ 
where  each  individual,  acting  for  the  benefit  of 
the  whole,  would  find  their  own  happiness 
blended  with  that  of  society  in  general,  and  be 
Mi  ^d  in  the  reciprocal  communication  of 
charity  and  benevolence. 


36 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


CHAPTER  VII. 


"  Comci  love,  and  twine  a  wreatli  for  me,   ' 
And  weave  it  with  the  choicest  flowers, 
To  cheat  the  ling'ring  steps  of  time, 
And  gladden  all  life's  passing  hours.'' 

The  time  now  arrived  when  Theodore  was 
to  enter  upon  his  professional  studies,  and  he  be- 
came engaged  in  the  office  of  an  eminent  attor- 
ney in  New- York.  He  r  *"  'v^ntly  absented  him- 
self, however,  to  accompa^.  Albert  to  visit  his 
father's  family,  and  since  his  acquaintance  with 
Alida,  there  was  a  charm  that  attracted  him 
thither.  "  If  he  had  admired  the  manly  virtues  of 
the  brother,  could  he  fail  to  adore  the  gentle 
graces  of  the  sister  7  If  all  the  sympathies  of  the 
most  ardent  friendship  had  been  drawn  forth 
toward  the  former,  must  not  the  most  tender 
feelings  of  the  soul  be  attracted  by  the  milder  and 
more  refined  excellencies  of  the  other  ?" 

Bonville  had  become  the  admirer  of  Alida  ;  of 
course  he  and  Theodore  sometimes  met.  He 
had  made  no  serious  pretensions,  but  his  parti- 
cularity indicated  something  more  than  fashion- 
able politeness.  His  manners,  his  independent 
situation,  entitled  him  to  respect.  "  It  is  not  prob- 
able, therefore,  that  he  will  be  objectionable  to 
her  friendsjor  to  Alida  herself,"  said  Theodore, 


A  L  I   D  A 


37 


with  aa  iuvoluntary  sigh,  and  act  his  visits  be- 
came more  frequent,  an  increasing  anxiety  took 
place  in  his  bosom.  He  wished  her  to  remain 
single ;  the  idea  of  losing  her  by  marriage,  gave 
him  inexpressible  regret.  What  substitute  could 
supply  to  him  the  happy  hours  he  had  passed  in 
her  company?  What  charm  could  wing  the 
lingering  moments  when  she  was  gone  ? 

How  different  would  be  the  sc^ne  when  de- 
barred from  the  unreserved  Mendsb'p  and  con- 
versation of  Alida.  And  unreserved  it  could  not 
be,  were  she  not  exclusively  mistress  of  herself. 
But  was  there  not  something  of  a  more  refined 
texture  than  friendship  in  his  predilection  for  the 
company  of  Alida  1  If  so,  why  not  avow  it  ? 
His  prospects,  his  family,  and  of  course  his  pre- 
tensions might  not  be  inferior  to  those  of  Boii- 
ville. 

But  perhaps  he  was  pieferred.  His  oppor- 
tunities :  his  prior  acquaintance  with  the  lady. 
Distance  was  no  barrier  to  his  addresses.  His 
visits  became  more  and  more  frequent.  Was  it 
not  then  highly  probable  that  ho  had  secured 
her  afifiections  ? 

Thus  reasoned  Theodore,  but  the  reasoning 
tended  not  to  allay  the  tempest  that  was  gather- 
ing in  his  bosom.  He  ordered  his  carriage,  and 
wa?  in  a  short  time  at  the  seat  of  Aiida's  father. 


I 


38 


A  L  I  D  A. 


■  ii 


r 


I 


It  was  summer,  and  towards  evening  when  he 
arrived.  Alida  was  sitting  by  the  window  when 
he  entered  the  hall.  She  arose  and  received  him 
with  a  smile.  "  I  have  just  been  thinking  of  an 
evening's  walk,"  said  she,  '*but  had  no  one  to  at- 
tend me,  and  you  have  come  juet  in  time  to  per- 
form that  office.  I  will  order  tea  immediately, 
while  you  rest  from  the  fatigues  of  your  journey." 

When  tea  was  served  up,  a  servant  entered 
the  room  with  a  letter  which  he  had  found  in 
the  yard.  Alida  received  it.  "  'T  is  a  letter,"  said 
she,  "  which  I  sent  by  Bonville,  to  a  lady  in  the 
village,  and  the  careless  man  has  lost  it."  Turn- 
ing to  The^  iore,  *'  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  your 
friend  Bonville  has  been  with  us  a  few  days ;  he 
left  us  this  morning."  **My  friend,"  replied 
Theodore,  hastily.  "Is  he  not  your  friend?" 
inquired  Alida.  "  I  beg  pardon,  madam,"  said 
he,  "  my  mind  was  absent."  "  He  requested  us 
\.o  present  his  respects  to  his  friend  Theodore,'* 
said  she.  Theodore  bowed  and  turned  the  con- 
versation. 

They  now  walked  out,  and  took  a  winding 
path  which  led  through  pleasant  fields  until  they 
reached  the  water,  and  continued  to  pursue  their 
way  alon^  the  shore  till  they  came  to  a  beautiful 
and  shafiy  grove,  where  the  thick  foliage  af- 
forded a  delightful  retreat  from  the  warm  rays 


A  L  I  D  A 


39 


of  the  sun,  and  at  the  extremity  of  which  was  a 
sloping  eminence,  which  commanded  an  ex- 
tensive prospect  of  the  surrounding  country,  part 
of  Long-Island  sound  and  the  junction  of  the 
bay  w4th  the  eastern  river. 

A  soft  and  silent  shower  had  descended.  A 
thousand  transitory  gems  trembled  upon  the 
leafy  foliage,  glittering  in  the  western  ray.  A 
bright  rainbow  sat  upon  a  southern  cloud  ;  the 
light  gales  whispered  among  the  branches  agitated 
the  young  harvest  to  billowy  motion,  and  moved 
the  tops  of  the  deep  green  forest  with  majestic 
grandeur ;  while  flocks,  herds,  and  cottages  were 
scattered  over  the  resplendent  landscape. 

"  This  is  a  most  delightful  scene,"  said  Alida. 
"  It  is,  truly,"  replied  Theodore,  "  do  you  think 
that  New- York  can  boast  of  so  charming  a  pros- 
pect." *•'  Yes,  one,"  answered  she,  "  it  is  the 
v/alk  on  the  battery,  the  water  prospect  is  dmilar 
to  this,  but  the  landscape  is  not  so  variegated." 

"  See  that  ship,  Theodore,  coming  down  the 
sound,  how  she  ploughs  through  the  white  foam, 
while  the  breezes  flutter  in  the  sails,  varying 
with  the  vivid  rays  of  the  sun."  "  Yes,"  said 
Theodore,  "  it  bounds  with  rapid  motion  over  the 
waves,  and  ere  the  day  has  departed  it  will  safe- 
ly reach  the  wharf  of  the  city." 

They  walked  leisurely  around  the  hill,  and 


40 


A  L  I  DA. 


then  moved  slowly  towards  home.  The  sun  was 
sinking  gradually  behind  the  western  horizon. 
Twilight  arose  dimly  in  the  east,  and  floated 
along  the  air.  Darkness  began  to  hover  around 
the  woodlands  and  valleys.  The  beauties  of  the 
landscape  slowly  receded;  the  breezes  bad  gone 
down  with  the  sun,  and  a  perfect  calm  succeeded. 
<<  I  sliall  never  forget  this  charming  prome* 
nade,"  said  Theodore,  as  he  approached  the 
threshhold  of  the  door,  with  a  deep  drawn  sigh, 
<<aud  the  remembrance  of  the  sweet  pensive, 
scenery  of  this  delightful  spot,  will  ever  continue 
to  haunt  my  memory." 


% 


A  L  I  D  A. 


41 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


'*  To  lull  affection's  sigh, 

And  dry  the  tear  of  isonsibility; 

I  Ml  think  of  thee,  in  all  my  lonely  hours, 

Though  thou,  perhaps,  may  ne^er  remember  me.*' 

The  next  day  Theodore  returned  to  his  stu- 
dies ;  but  different  from  his  former  visits  to  Alida, 
instead  of  exhilarating  his  spirits,  this  had  tended 
to  depress  them.  He  doubted  whether  she  was 
not  already  engaged  to  Bonville.  His  hopes 
would  persuade  him  this  was  not  the  case ;  but 
his  fears  declared  otherwise. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  renewed  his  visits 
again.  In  the  interim  he  received  a  letter  from 
a  friend  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Alida's  father ; 
an  extract  from  which  follows :  "  We  are  soon  to 
have  a  wedding  here ;  you  are  acquainted  with 
the  parties — Alida  M.  and  Bonville.  Such  at 
least  is  our  opinion  from  appearances,  as  this 
gentleman  is  now  there  more  than  half  his  time. 
You  will  undoubtedly  be  invited.  We  had  ex- 
pected that  you  would  have  put  in  your  claims, 
from  your  particular  attention  to  the  lady.  She 
is  a  fine  girl,  Theodore."  "  I  shall  never  be  a 
guest  at  Alidads  wedding,"  said  Theodore,  as  he 
hastily  paced  the  room ;   <<but  I  roust  again  see 

4* 


!| 


42 


A  L  I  D  A. 


>ii 


\' 


her  before  that  event  takes  place,  when  I  shall 
lose  her  forever." 

The  ensuing  day  he  repaired  to  her  father's. 
He  inquired  for  Alida;  she  was  gone  with  a 
party  to  the  shores  of  the  sound,  attended  by 
Bonville.  At  evening  they  returned.  Bonvilleand 
Theodore  addressed  each  other  with  much  seem- 
ing cordiality.  "You  have  deserted  us,  Theodore," 
said  Alida,  "  we  concluded  you  had  forgotten 
the  road  to  this  place."  "  Was  not  that  a  hasty 
conclusion  ?"  said  Theodore.  "  I  think  not,"  she 
answered,  "  if  your  long  absence  should  be  con- 
strued into  neglect.  But  we  will  hear  your 
excuse,"  said  she,  smiling,  "  by  and  by,  and  per- 
haps pardon  you." 

He  thanked  her  for  her  condescension. 

The  next  morning  Bonville  set  out  to  go  to 
New- York.  Theodore  observed  that  he  took 
particular  leave  of  Alida,  telling  her,  in  a  low 
voice,  that  he  should  have  the  happiness  of  see- 
ing her  again,  within  two  or  three  weeks  certainly. 

After  he  was  gone,  as  Alida  and  Theodore 
were  sitting  in  the  room  alone,  "  Well,"  said 
she,  "  am  I  to  hear  your  excuses,  Theodore  ?  " 
"  For  what,  madam  ?"  *'  For  neglecting  your 
friends."  '4  hope  it  is  not  so  considered,  madam." 
"  Seriously,  then,  why  have  you  stayed  away  so 


A  L  I  DA. 


43 


long  ?  Has  this  place  no  charms  in  the  absence 
of  my  brother  1 " 

"Would  my  presence  have  added  to  your  feli- 
city, Alida  ?"  "  You  never  came  an  unwel- 
come visiter  here."  **  Perhaps  I  might  be  some- 
times intrusive  when  Bonville  is  your  guest.'' 
"  I  have  supposed  you  were  on  friendly  terms," 
said  she.  "  We  are,  but  there  are  seasons  when 
friendship  must  yield  its  pretensions  to  a  supe- 
rior claim." 

"  Will  you  answer  me  one  question,  Ahda, 
are  you  engaged  to  Eonville."  "  He  has  asked 
me  the  same  question  concerning  you,"  replied 
she,  (blushing.) 

"  Do  you,"  continued  Theodore,  "  prefer  him 
to  any  other  ?  "  Alida,  (blushing  deeply.)  "  He 
has  made  the  same  inquiries  respecting  you." 

"  I  beg,  madam,  you  will  deal  with  me  candid- 
ly," s  id  Theodore,  (taking  her  hand  with  anx- 
iety,) "  I  am  entitled  to  no  claims,  but  you  krow 
what  my  heart  would  ask.  I  will  bow  to  your 
decision.  Bonville  or  Theodore  must  relinquish 
their  pretensionsr  We  cannot  share  the  blessing." 

The  cheeks  of  Alida  were  suffused  with  a 
varying  glow,  her  lips  were  pale,  her  voice  trem- 
ulous, and  her  eyes  cast  down.  "My  father  has 
informed  me,"  said  she,  "  that  it  is  improper  to 
receive  the  particular  addresses  of  more  than  one. 


44 


A  L  I  B  A 


I  am  conscious  of  my  inadverteDcy,  and  that  the 
reproof  is  just.  One,  therefore,  must  be  dismissed. 
But/'  (she  blushed  deeper,)  and  a  considerable 
pause  ensued. 

At  length  Theodore  arose,  "I  will  not  press 
you  further,"  said  he ;  "  I  know  the  delicacy  of 
your  feelings ;  I  know  your  sincerity ;  I  will  not 
therefore  insist  on  your  performing  the  painful 
task  of  deciding  against  me.  Your  conduct  in 
every  point  of  view  has  been  discreet.  I  would 
have  no  just  claims,  or  if  I  had,  your  heart 
must  sanction  them,  or  they  would  be  unhal- 
lowed, and  unjustifiable.  I  shall  ever  pray  for 
your  felicity.  Our  affections  are  not  under  our 
direction  ;  our  happiness  depends  on  our  obe- 
dience to  their  mandates.  Whatever,  then, 
may  be  my  sufferings,  you  are  unblameable, 
and  irreproachable." 

He  took  his  hat  in  extreme  agitation,  and  pre^ 
pared  himself  to  take  leave.  Alida  had  lecovered 
in  some  degree  from  her  embarrassment,  and 
collected  her  scattered  spirits. 

"  Your  conduct,  Theodore,"  said  she,  "  is  gen- 
erous and  noble.  Will  you  give  yourself  the 
trouble,  and  do  me  the  honour  to  see  me  once 
more  ?"  "  I  will,"  said  he,  "  at  any  time  you 
shall  appoint." 

<*  Four  weeks  then,"  said  she,  ^<  from  this  day, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


45 


honour  me  with  a  visit,  and  you  shall  have  my 
decision,  and  receive  ray  final  answer."  "  I  will 
be  punctual  to  the  day,"  he  replied,  and  bade 
her  adieu. 

Theodore's  hours  from  this  time  winged 
heavily  away.  His  wonted  cheerfulness  fled  ;  he 
wooed  the  silent  and  solitary  haunts  of  musing, 
moping  melancholy.  He  loved  to  wander 
through  lonely  fields,  when  dewy  twilight  robed 
the  evening  mild,  or  to  trace  the  forest  glen, 
through  which  the  moon  darted  her  silvery  in- 
tercepted rays.  His  agitated  thoughts  preyed 
upon  his  peace  incessantly  and  deeply  disturbed 
his  repo    . 

He  1  jd  anxiously  to  the  hour  when  Alida 
was  to  make  the  decision.  He  wished,  yet 
dreaded  the  event.  In  that  he  foresaw,  or 
thought  he  foresaw,  a  withering  blight  to  all  his 
hopes,  and  a  final  consummation  to  his  forebo- 
ding fears.  He  had  pressed  Alida,  perhaps  too 
urgently,  to  a  declaration.  Had  her  predilection 
been  in  his  favour,  would  she  have  hesitated  to 
avow  it  ?  Her  father  had  advised  her  to  relin- 
quish one,  and  to  retain  the  other,  nor  had  he 
attempted  to  influenc-e  or  direct  her  choice.  Was 
it  not  evident,  then,  irom  her  confused  hesitation 
and  embarrassment,  when  solicited  to  discrirai- 


r® 


46 


A  L  I  n  A . 


?!  ''^ 


nate  upon  the  subject,  that  her  ultimate  decision 
would  be  in  favour  of  Bonville  ? 

While  Theodore's  mind  was  thus  in  agitation, 
he  received  a  second  letter  from  his  friend  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Alida.  He  read  the  following 
clause  therein  with  emotions  mors  eabily  to  be 
conceived  than  expressed:  "Alida's  wedding- 
day  is  appointed.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  Bon- 
ville is  to  be  the  happy  deity  of  the  hymenial 
sacrifice.  I  had  it  from  his  own  declaration.  He 
did  not  name  the  positive  day,  but  it  is  certainly 
to  be  soon.  You  will  undoubtedly^  however, 
have  timely  notice,  and  receive  an  invitation." 

**  We  must  pour  out  a  liberal  libation  upon  the 
mystic  altar,  Theodore,  and  twine  the  nuptial 
garland  with  wreaths  of  joy.  Bonville  should 
devote  a  rich  offeting  to  so  valuable  a  prize.  He 
has  been  here  for  a  week,  and  departed  for  New- 
York  vesterday,  but  is  shortly  to  return." 

"  And  why  have  I  ever  doubted  this  event  ?" 
said  Theodore.  "  What  infatuation  hath  then 
kd  me  on  in  the  pursuit  of  fantastic  and  unreal 
bliss  ?  I  have  had,  it  is  true,  no  ^sitive  assu- 
rances that  Alida  would  be  disposed  to  favour 
my  addresses.  But  why  did  she  ever  receive 
them  ?  Why  did  she  enchantingly  smile  upon 
me  ?  Why  fascinate  the  soft  poweVs  of  my  soul 
by  that  winning  mildness,  and  the  favourable 


A  L  I  D  A. 


47 


display  of  those  complicated  and  superior  attrac- 
tions which  ahf  .nust  have  known  were  irre- 
sistable  ?  And  now  she  would  have  me  dance 
attendance  to  her  decision  in  favour  of  another 
— insulting ;  let  Bonville  and  herself,  make  it, 
as  they  have  formed,  this  farcical  decision.  1 
absolutely  will  never  attend  it.  Why  did  she 
not  spurn  me  from  her  confidence,  and  plainly 
tell  me  that  my  attentions  were  untimely  and 
improper  l " 

"  But,  I  have  enga^^ed  to  see  her  at  an  appoint- 
ed time  ;  my  honour  is  therefore  pledged  for  an 
inte*  v^iew ;  it  must  take  place.  I  shall  endeav- 
our to  surjport  it  with  becoming  dignity,  and  I 
will  convince  Alida,  and  Bonville,  that  I  am  not 
the  dupe  of  th.:ir  caprices.  But,  let  me  considc  r 
— Wbat  has  Alida  dene  to  deserve  censure  or 
reproach?  Her  brother  was  my  early  friend; 
she  has  treated  me  as  a  Iriend  to  that  brother. 
She  was  uncoiiscious  of  the  aftection  which  hei 
charm^nd  mental  graces  had  kindled  in  my 
bosom.  Her  evident  embarrassment,  on  receiv- 
ing my  declaration,  witnessed  her  surprise  and 
prior  attachment.  What  could  she  do  to  save 
herself  the  pain  of  a  direct  denial  ?  She  has  ap- 
pointed a  day  when  her  refusal  may  come  in  a 
more  delicate  and  formal  nanner — and  I  muBt 
therefore  meet  it.'* 


48 


A  i^  I  D  A 


ml  '  \;i 


I 


CHAPTER  IX. 

*'The  time  draws  near  when  I  shall  meet  those  eyes,  tliat  may 
perchance  look  cold  on  me — but  doubt  is  called  the  beacon  of  the 
wise,  the  test  that  reaches  to  the  bottom  of  the  worst.** 

On  the  appointed  day,  Theodore  proceeded  to 
the  house  of  Alida's  father,  where  he  arrived  late 
in  the  afternoon.  Alida  had  retired  to  a  little 
summer-house  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  A  ser- 
vant conducted  Theodore  thither. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  flowing  robe  of  white 
muslin,  richly  embroidered.  Her  hair  hung 
loosely  upon  her  shoulders ;  she  was  contem- 
plating a  bouquet  of  flowers  which  she  held  in 
her  hand.  Theodore  fancied  she  never  appeared 
so  lovely.     She  arose  to  receive  him. 

"  We  have  been  expecting  you  for  some  time," 
said  Alida,  "we  were  anxious  to  inform  you 
that  we  have  just  received  a  letter  from  my 
brother,  ia  which  he  desires  us  to  present  you 
his  most  friendly  respects,  and  complains  of  your 
not  visiting  him  lately  so  frequently  as  usual.'' 
Theodore  thanked  her  for  the  information ;  said 
that  business  had  prevented  him ;  he  esteemed 
him  as  his  most  valuable  friend,  and  would  be 
more  particular  iii  future. 

*'  We  have  been  thronged  with  company  seve- 


A  L  I  D  A. 


49 


ral  days/'  said  Alida.  "  The  last  of  them  took 
their  departure  yesterday.  And  I  have  only  to 
regret,  that  I  have  nearly  a  week  been  prevent* 
ed  from  taking  ray  favourite  walk  to  the  grove,  to 
which  place  you  attended  me  when  you  were 
last  here."  "  We  will  walk  there,  then,  if  you 
have  no  objections,  as  no  doubt  it  is  much  im- 
proved since  that  time,"  said  Theodore.  They 
resorted  thither  towards  evening,  and  seated 
themselves  in  the  arbour,  where  they  sat  some 
time  contemplating  the  scenery. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  autumn,  and  a  yellow 
hue  was  spread  over  the  natural  beauties  of 
creation.  The  withering  forest  began  to  shed 
its  decaying  foliage,  which  the  light  gales  pur- 
sued along  the  russet  fields ;  —  the  low  sun 
extended  its  lengthening  shadows  ;  —  curlinr 
smoke  ascended  from  the  neighbouring  village 
and  the  surrounding  cottages; — a  thick  fog  crept 
along  the  valleys ; — a  gray  mist  hovered  over  the 
tops  of  the  distant  hills ; — the  glassy  surface  of 
the  water  glittering  to  the  sun's  departing  ray ; — 
the  solemn  herds  lowed  in  monotonous  sym- 
phony ; — the  autumnal  insects,  in  sympathetic 
wafting,  plaintively  predicted  their  approaching 
fate. 

*'  The  scene  is  changed  since  we  last  visited 
this  place,"  said  Alida ;    "  the  gay  charms  of 

6 


50 


A  L  I  D  A. 


:  •'# 


! ;  '  • 


summer  are  beginning  to  decay,  and  must  soon 
yield  their  splendours  to  the  rude  despoiling  hand 
of  winter." 

**That  will  be  the  case,'^  said  Theodore, 
"  before  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany here  again."  "  That  may  probably  be, 
though  it  is  nearly  two  months  yet  to  winter," 
udid  Alida. 

"  Great  changes  may  take  place  within  that 
time,"  said  Theodore."  "  Yes,  changes  must 
take  place,''  answered  Alida,  •  but  nothing,  I 
hope,  to  embitter  present  prospects  " 

"  As  it  respects  yourself,  1  trust  not,  madam." 
"  And  I  sincerely  hope  not,  as  it  respects  you, 
Theodore."  *'  That  wish,"  said  he,  "  I  believe 
is  vain." 

"  Your  feelings  accord  with  the  season,  Theo- 
dore ;  you  are  melancholy.     Shall  we  return  ?  " 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  madam  ;  1  know  1  am 
unsociable.  You  speak  of  returning ;  you  know 
the  occasion  of  my  being  here.  You  cannot 
have  forgotten  your  own  appointment  and  con- 
sequent engagement?"     She  made  no  answer. 

"  I  know,  Alida,  that  you  are  incapable  of  du- 
plicity or  evasion.  I  have  promised  and  now 
repeat  the  declaration,  that  I  will  silently  submit 
to  your  decision.  This  you  have  engaged  to 
make,  and  this  is  the  time  you  have  appointed. 


A  L  I  D  A. 


51 


The  pain  of  present  suspense  can  scarcely  be 
surpassed  by  the  pang  of  disappointment. 
On  your  part  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  I  trust 
you  have  candidly  determined,  and  will  decide 
explicitly." 

"  I  am  placed  in  an  exceedingly  delicate  situ- 
ation," answered  Alida,  (sighing.)  "  I  know  you 
are,  madam,"  said  Theodore,  "but  your  own 
honour,  your  own  peace,  require  that  you  should 
extricate  yourself  from  the  perplexing  em- 
barrassment." 

"  That  I  am  convinced  of,"  replied  Alida,  *'  I 
know  that  I  have  been  inadvertently  indi^^reet. 
1  have  admitted  the  addresses  of  Bonville  and 
yourself,  without  calculating  or  expecting  the 
consequences.  You  have  both  treated  me 
honourably  and  with  respect.  You  are  both  on 
equal  grounds  as  to  standing  in  life.  With  Bon- 
ville I  became  first  acquainted.  As  it  relates  to 
him,  some  new  arrangements  have  taken  place 
since  you  came  here." 

Theodore  interrupted  her  with  emotion.  "Of 
those  arrangements  I  am  acquainted,  I  received 
the  intelligence  from  a  friend  in  your  neighbour- 
hood.    I  am  prepared  for  the  event." 

Alida  remained  uilent.  "  I  have  mentioned  be- 
fore," resumed  T  eodore,  "that  whatever  may 
be  your  decision,  no  impropriety  can  attach  to 


52 


A  L  I  D  A. 


you.  I  might  add,  indeed,  from  various  circum- 
stances, and  from  the  information  I  possess,  I 
perhaps  should  not  have  given  you  further 
trouble  on  the  occasion,  had  it  not  been  from 
your  own  direction.  And  I  am  now  willing  to 
retire  without  further  explanation,  without  giv- 
ing you  the  pain  of  an  express  decision,  if  you 
think  the  measure  expedient.  Your  declara- 
tion can  only  be  a  matter  of  form,  the  conse- 
quence of  which  I  know,  and  my  proposition 
may  save  your  feelingj."  i 

"  No,  Theodore,"  replied  Alida,  "  my  reputa- 
tion depends  on  my  adherence  to  my  first  deter- 
mination ;  justice  to  yourself  and  to  Bonville 
also  demand  it.  After  what  has  passed,  I  should 
be  considered  as  acting  capriciously,  and  incon- 
sistently, should  I  depart  from  it.  Bonville  will 
be  here  to-morrow,  and  you  must  consent  to  stay 
with  us  until  that  time ;  the  matter  shall  then 
be  decided."  "  Yes,"  said  Theodore,  "  it  shall 
be  as  you  say,  madam.  Make  your  arrange- 
ments as  you  please." 

Evening  came  on,  and  spread  around  her 
sombre  shades  ; — the  breeze's  rustling  wing  was 
in  the  tree  ; — the  sound  of  the  low,  murmuring 
brooks,  and  the  far-off  waterfall,  wove  faintly 
heard  ; — tha  frequent  Jights  in  the  village  darted 
their  paley  lustre  through  the  gloom  ; — the  soli- 


A  L  1  D  A. 


53* 


tary  whip-poor-wills  stationed  themselves  along 
the  MTOody  glens,  the  groves  and  rocky  partures, 
and  sung  a  requiem  to  departed  summer ; — a 
dark  cloud  was  rising  in  the  west,  across  whose 
gloomy  front  the  vivid  lightning  bent  its  forky 
spires. 

Theodore  and  Alida  moved  slowly  towards 
home ;  she  appeared  enraptured  with  the  melan- 
choly splendours  of  the  evening,  but  another 
subject  engaged  the  mental  attention  of  Theo- 
dore. 

Bonville  arrived  the  next  day.     He  gave  his 

hand  to  Theodore  with  seeming  warmth  of 
friendship.  If  it  was  reciprocated,  it  must  have 
been  affected.  There  was  no  alteration  in  the 
manners  and  conversation  of  Alida ;  her  dis- 
course as  usual  was  sprightly  and  interesting. 
After  dinner  she  retired,  and  her  father  requested 
Theodore  and  Bonville  to  withdraw  with  him  to 
a  private  room.  After  they  were  seated,  the  old 
gentleman  thus  addressed  them : 

"  I  have  called  you  here,  gentlemen,  to  per- 
form my  duty  as  a  parent  to  my  daughter,  and 
as  a  friend  to  you.  You  have  both  addressed 
Alida ;  while  your  addresses  were  merely  for- 
mal, they  were  innocent;  but  when  they  be- 
came serious,  they  were  dangerous.  Your  pre- 
tensions I  consider  equal,  and  between  honour- 

5* 


54 


A  L  I  D  A. 


able  pretenders,  who  are  worthy  of  my  daughter, 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  influence  her  choice.  That 
choice,  however,  can  rest  only  on  one ;  she  has 
engaged  to  decide  between  you.  I  am  come,  to 
make  in  her  name  th^s  decision.  The  following 
are  my  terms : — no  difficulty  shall  arise  between 
you,  gentlemen,  in  consequence  of  her  determi- 
nation ;  nothing  shall  go  abroad  respecting  the 
affair;  it  shall  be  settled  under  my  roof.  As 
soon  as  I  have  pronounced  Alida's  declaration,, 
you  shall  both  depart,  and  absent  my  house  for 
at  least  two  weeks,  as  it  would  be  improper  for 
my  daughter  to  see  either  of  you  at  present ; 
after  that  period  I  shall  be  happy  to  receive  your 
visits."  Theodore  and  Bonville  pledged  their 
honour  to  abide  implicitly  by  these  injunctions. 

He  then  further  observed :  "  This,  gentlemen, 
is  all  I  require.  I  have  said  that  I  considered 
your  pretensions  equal;  so  has  my  daughter 
treated  them.  You  have  both  made  professions 
to  her ;  she  has  appointed  a  time  to  answer  you. 
That  time  has  now  arrived,  and  I  now  inform 
you — that  she  has  decided  in  favour  of  Theo- 
dore." 

These  words  from  Alida's  father  burst  upon 
the  mental  powers  of  Bonville  like  sudden  and 
tremendous  thunder  on  the  deep  and  sullen  si- 
lence of  night.  Unaccustomed  to  disappointment^ 


A  I«  I  D  A. 


55 


he  had  calculated  on  assured  success.  His  ad-* 
dresses  to  the  ladies  generally  had  been  honour^ 
ably  received.  Alida  was  the  first  whose  charms 
were  capable  of  rendering  them  sincere.  He  was 
not  ignorant  of  Theodore's  attentions  to  her  ;  it 
gave  him,  however,  but  little  uneasiness.  He 
believed  that  his  superior  acquired  graces  would 
eclipse  the  pretensions  of  his  rival.  He  consid* 
ered  himself  a  connoisseur  in  character,  especially 
in  that  of  the  ladies.  He  conformed  to  their 
taste ;  he  flattered  their  foibles,  and  obsequiously 
bowed  to  the  minuti€ft.of  femab  volatility.  He 
considered  himself  skilled  in  the  language  of  the 
heart ;  and  he  trusted  that  from  his  pre-eminent 
powers  in  the  science  of  affection,  he  had  only  to 
see,  to  make  use  of,  and  to  conquer. 

He  had  frankly  offered  his  hand  to  Alida,  and 
pressed  her  for  a  decisive  answer.  This  from 
time  to  time  she  suspended,  and  finally  ramed  a 
day  in  which  to  give  him  and  Theodore  a  deter- 
minate one,  though  neither  knew  the  arrange- 
ments made  with  the  other.  Alida  finding,  how- 
ever, the  dilemma  in  which  she  was  placed,  and 
she  had  previously  consulted  her  father.  He  had 
no  objections  to  her  choosing  between  two  per- 
sons of  equal  claims  to  affluence  and  respect- 
ability.    This  choice  the  had  made,  and  her 


56 


A  L  I  D  ▲. 


[  .  3 


I 


father  was  considered  the  most  proper  person  to 
pronounce  it. 

When  Bonville  had  urged  Alida  to  answer 
him  decidedly,  he  supposed  that  her  hesitation, 
delay  and  suspensions,  were  only  the  effect  of 
diffidence.  He  had  no  suspicion  of  her  ultimate 
conclusion,  and  when  she  finally  named  the  day 
to  decide,  he  was  confident  her  voice  would  be 
in  his  favour.  These  sentiments  he  had  com- 
municated to  the  person  who  had  written  to 
Theodore,  intimating  that  Alida  had  fixed  a 
time  which  was  to  crown  his  sanguine  wishes. 
He  had  listened  therefore  attentively  to  the  words 
of  her  father,  momentarily  expecting  to  hear 
himself  declared  the  favourite  choice  of  the  fair. 
What  then  must  have  been  his  disappointment 
when  the  name  of  Theodore  was  pronounced 
instead  of  his  own  !  The  highly  finished  scene 
of  pleasure  and  future  happy  prospects  which 
his  ardent  imagination  had  depicted,  now  va- 
nished in  a  moment.  The  bright  sun  of  his 
early  hopes  was  veiled  in  darkness  at  tliis  unex- 
pected decision. 

Very  different  were  the  sensations  which  in- 
spired the  bosom  of  Theodore.  He  had  not  even 
calculated  on  a  decision  in  his  favour ;  he  believed 
that  Bonville  would  be  the  choice  of  Alida.  She 
had  told  him,  that  the  form  ot  deciding  was  ne- 


A  L  f  D  A  . 


67' 


cessary  to  save  appearances ;  with  this  form  he 
complied,  because  she  desired  it,  not  because  he 
expected  the  result  would  be  in  his  favour.  He 
had  not  therefore  attended  to  the  words  of  Alida's 
father  with  that  eagerness  which  favourable 
anticipations  commonly  produce. 

But  when  his  name  was  mentioned ;  when  he 
found  that  he  was  the  choice,  the  happy  favourite 
of  Alida's  affection,  every  ardent  feeling  of  his 
soul  became  interested,  and  was  suddenly  arous- 
ed to  the  refinements  of  sensibihty.  Like  an 
electric  shock  it  re-animated  his  existence,  and 
the  bright  morning  of  joy  quickly  dissipated  the 
gloom  which  hung  over  his  mind. 


68 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


CHAPTER  X. 


**  Dark  gathering  clouds  involve  the  thrcat'ning  skies, 
The  billows  heave  with  the  impending  gloom  ; 
Deep  hollow  murmurs  from  the  cliffs  arise, 
Ride  on  the  blast,  and  urge  the  howling  storm/' 

Several  v;eeks  passed  away,  and  Theodore 
felt  all  that  anxiety  and  impatience  which  a  se- 
paration from  a  beloved  object  can  produce* 
He  framed  a  tliousand  excuses  to  visit  Alida,  i 
yet  he  feared  a  visit  might  be  premature.  He 
was,  however,  necessitated  .to  make  a  journey  to 
a  distant  part  of  the  country,  after  which  he  re- 
solved to  see  her. 

He  performed  the  business  he  went  on,  and 
was  returning.  It  was  toward  evening,  and 
the  day  had  been  uncommonly  sultry  for  the 
autumnal  season.  A  rising  shower  blackened 
the  western  hemisphere  ;  the  dark  vapours  as- 
cended in  folding  ridges,  and  the  thunder  rolled 
at  a  distance. 

Theodore  saw  he  should  be  overtaken  by  the 
rain.  He  discovered  an  elegant  seat  about  a 
hundred  yards  distant  from  the  road  ;  thither  he 
hastened  to  gain  shelter  from  the  approaching 
storm. 

The  owner  of  the  mansion  met  hira  at  the 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


59 


door,  and  politely  invited  him  in,  while  a  ser- 
vant stood  ready  to  take  his  horse. 

He  was  ushered  into  a  large  apartment,  gen- 
teelly furnished,  where  the  family  and  several 
young  ladies  were  sitting.  As  he  glanced  Lis 
eye  hastily  around  the  room,  he  thought  he  re- 
cognized a  familiar  countenance.  A  hurried 
succession  of  confused  ideas  for  a  moment  crossed 
his  recollection.  In  a  moment  he  discovered 
that  it  was  Aiida. 

By  this  unexpected  meeting  they  were  both 
completely  embarrassed.  Alida,  however,  arose, 
and,  in  rather  a  confused  manner,  introduced 
Theodore  to  the  company  as  the  friend  of  her 
brother. 

The  rain  coiitinued  most  part  of  the  after- 
noon. Theodore  was  urged  by  the  family,  and 
consented  to  stay  the  night.  A  moonlight 
evening  succeeded  the  shower,  which  invited 
the  young  people  to  walk  in  an  adjoining  gar- 
den. Ahda  informed  Theodore  that  the  owner 
of  the  mansion  was  a  distant  relative  of  her 
father,  w^ho  had  two  amiable  daughters,  not  far 
from  her  own  age.  She  had  been  invited  there 
to  pass  a  week,  and  expected  to  return  within 
two  days.  "  And,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  per- 
haps, Theodore,  we  may  have  an  opportunity 
once  more  to  visit  our  favourite  grove,  before 


60 


A  I.  I  D  A 


n, ' 


)/ 


winter  entirely  debtroys  the  remaining  beauties 
of  the  summer." 

Theodore  felt  all  the  force  of  the  remark.  He 
recollected  the  conversa!icn  when  they  were 
last  at  the  place  she  mentioned ;  and  he  well 
remembered  his  feelings  on  that  occasion. 

"  Great  changes,  indeed,"  he  replied,  "  have 
taken  place  since  we  were  last  the»e ; — that  they 
are  prodrctive  of  unexpected  and  unexampled 
happiness  to  me,  is  due,  Alida,  tc  yourself  alone.'^ 

Theodore  departed  next  morning,  appointing 
the  next  week  to  visit  Alida  at  her  father's 
houso.  Thus  were  the  obstacles  removed  which 
had  presented  a  barrier  to  their  united  wishes. 
They  had  not,  it  is  true,  been  separated  by  wide 
seas,  unfeeling  parents,  nor,  as  yet,  by  the  ri- 
gorous laws  of  war  ;  but  vexations,  doubts,  and 
difficulties  had  thus  far  attendedlkm,  which  had 
now  happily  disappeared,  and  they  calculated 
on  no  unpropitious  event  which  might  thwart 
their  future  happiness. 

All  the  hours  that  Theodore  could  spare  from 
his  studies  were  devoted  to  Alida ;  and  their 
parents  began  to  calculate  on  joining  their  hands 
as  soon  as  his  professional  term  of  study  was 
completed. 

Hostilities  that  had  previously  commenced 
with  England  had  been  followed  by  several 


A  L  I  D  A. 


61 


battles.  "  The  panic  and  general  bustle  which 
prevailed  at  this  time  will  yet  be  remembered  by 
many."  These  circumstances  were  not  calcu- 
lated to  impress  the  mind  of  Alida  with  the 
most  pleasant  sensations.  She  foresaw  that  the 
burden  of  the  w^ar  must  rest  on  the  American 
youth,  and  she  trembled  in  anticipation  for  the 
fate  of  Theodore.  He,  with  others,  should  it 
continue,  must  take  the  field  in  defence  of  his 
country.  The  effects  of  such  a  separation  were 
dubious  and  gloomy.  Theodore  and  herself  fre- 
quently discoursed  on  the  subject,  and  they 
agreed  to  form  the  mystic  union  previous  to  any 
wide  separation.  One  event  tended  to  hasten 
this  resolution :  The  attorney  in  whose  office 
Theodore  was  engaged  received  a  commission 
in  the  new-rax  ed  American  army,  and  marched 
to  the  lines  near  Boston.  His  business  was 
therefore  suspended,  and  Theodore  returned  to 
the  house  of  his  father.  He  considered  that  he 
could  not  remain  long  a  mere  spectator  of  the 
contest,  and  that  it  might  soon  become  his  duty 
to  take  the  field,  therefore  concluded  to  hasten 
his  marriage  with  Alida.  She  consented  to  the 
proposition,  and  their  parents  made  the  neces- 
sary arrangements  for  the  event.  The  place 
was  fixed  upon  which  was  to  be  their  future 
residence.    It  was  a  pleasantly  situated  emi« 

6 


m 


I* 


r* 


■I 


II' 


62 


A  L  I  D  A 


nence,  commanding  an  extensive  prospect. 
Its  sides  were  interspersed  with  orchards,  ar- 
bours, and  cultivated  fields.  On  the  west  forests 
unevenly  lifted  their  rude  heads,  with  here  and 
there  a  solitary  field,  newly  cleared,  and  thinly 
scattered  with  cottages.  To  the  east  the  eye 
extended  over  a  soil  at  one  time  swelling  into 
woody  elevations,  and  at  another  spreading 
itself  into  vales  of  the  most  enchanting  verdure. 
To  the  north  it  extended  to  the  palisades, 
wooded  to  their  summits,  and  throwing  their^ 
shadows  over  intervals  of  equal  wilderness, 
till  at  length  the  eye,  wandering  far  beyond,  was 
arrested  in  its  excursions  by  the  blue  mist  which 
hovered  over  the  distant  mountains,  more  grand, 
majestic,  and  lofty.  Gardens,  meadows,  and 
pastures  surrounded  the  place,  yielding  in  their 
season  the  rich  flowers,  fruit,  and  foliage  of 
spring,  summer,  and  autumn.  The  inhabitants 
around^were  mild,  sociable,  moral,  and  diligent. 
The  produce  of  their  own  fields  gave  them  the 
most  of  what  was  necessary,  and  they  were  hap- 
pily free  from  all  dissipation  and  luxury. 

Such  was  the  site  marked  out  for  the  residence 
of  Theodore  and  Alida.  They  visited  the  spot, 
and  were  enraptured  with  its  pensive,  romantic 
beauties. 

"  Here,"  said  Theodore.  "  we  will  one  day 


'  * 


A  L  I  D  A. 


63. 


pass  our  time  in  all  the  felicity  of  mind  which 
the  chequered  scenes  of  life  will  admit.  In 
the  spring,  we  will  roam  among  the  flowers ; 
in  summer  we  will  gather  strawberries  in  yonder 
fields,  or  raspberries  from  the  adjacent  shubbery. 
The  breezes  of  fragrant  morning  and  the  sighs 
of  the  evening  gale  will  be  mingled  with  the 
songs  of  the  various  birds  which  frequent  the  sur- 
rounding groves.  We  will  gather  the  bending 
fruits  of  autumn,  and  will  listen  with  pleasure 
to  the  hoarse,  murmuring  voice  of  winter — its 
whistling  winds,  its  driving  snow  and  rattling 
hail — with  dehght." 

The  bright  gems  of  joy  glistened  in  the  eyes 
of  Alida  as  Theodore  described  this  pleasing 
scene  of  anticipation. 

Winter  came  on ;  it  rapidly  passed  away. 
Spring  advanced,  and  the  marriage  day  was  ap- 
pointed. Preparations  for  the  hymenial  cere- 
mony were  making,  and  invitations  had  already 
gone  abroad.  Albert  was  particularly  sent  for, 
and  all  was  approaching  to  readiness  for  this 
happy  event. 

Theodore  and  Alida  again  promenaded  to  t!ie 
spot  which  had  been  chosen  for  their  habitation ; 
they  projected  the  structure  of  the  buildings, 
planned  the  gardens,  the  artificial  groves,  the 
walks,  and  the  green  retreat  of  the  summer* 


\     1 


64 


A  L  I  D  A. 


^1 


house ;  and  already  they  realized  in  imagina- 
tion the  various  domestic  blessings  and  felicities 
with  which  they  were  to  be  surrounded. 

Nature  was  adorned  with  the  bridal  orna- 
ments of  spring ;  the  radiant  sun  was  sinking 
behind  the  groves,  casting  his  sable  shades  over 
the  valley,  while  the  retiring  beams  of  day 
adorned  the  distant  eastern  eminences  with  yel- 
low lustre ;  the  birds  sung  melodiously  in  the 
grove  ;  the  air  was  freshened  by  light  western 
breezes,  bearing  upon  their  wings  all  the  en- ' 
trancing  odours  of  the  season ;  while  around 
the  horizon  clouds  raised  their  brazen  summits, 
based  in  the  black  vapour  of  approaching  night ; 
and  as  its  darkening  shades  were  advancing, 
Theodore  and  Alida  returned  home.  They 
seated  themselves  awhile  on  the  piazza,  to  con- 
template the  splendours  of  the  evening,  and  to 
witness  the  beauties  of  one  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque draperies  painted  in  the  landscape  of 
nature. 


▲  L  I  DA. 


65 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  dreadful  din  of  war  is  heard 

Wide  spreading  o'er  the  land  and  sea ; 

The  battle's  shout  and  cannon's  roar 
Proclaim  the  nation  shall  be  free. 

The  nodding  plumes,  like  waving  pines, 

Are  shaken  by  the  morning  breeze  ; 
The  gilded  armour  brightly  shines, 

And  patriots  sigh  for  victories. 

The  tumults  of  a  second  war  with  Great 
Britain  still  increased,  and  was  not  only  exhaust- 
ing the  finances  of  the  country,  but  called  for  a 
still  greater  sacrifice — all  the  bravest  American 
youth.  A  large  army  of  re-inforcements  was 
shortly  expected  from  England  to  land  on  our 
shores,  and  the  confused  noise  of  the  warriors, 
with  more  vigorous  and  intrepid  combat,  were 
already  anticipated. 

ThecJore  had  received  a  commission  in  a  re- 
giment of  militia,  and  was  pressed  by  several 
young  gentlemen  of  his  acquaintance,  who  had 
enlisted  in  the  army,  to  join  it  also.  He  had 
an  excuse  :  His  father  was  a  man  in  extensive 
business,  was  considerably  past  the  prime  of 
life,  had  a  number  of  agents  and  clerks  under 
him,  but  began  to  feel  himself  unable  to  attend 
to  the  various  and  burthensome  duties  and  de- 

6* 


66 


A  L  1  D  A. 


HI 


' 


mands  of  a  mercantile  lijie.  Theodore  was  hk 
only  son  ;  his  assistance^  therefore,  became  ne-* 
cessary,  until,  at  least,  his  father  could  bring  his 
business  to  a  close,  which  he  was  now  about  to 
effect. 

Theodore  stated  these  facts  to  his  friends ; 
told  them  that  on  every  occasion  he  should  be 
ready  to  fly  to  the  post  of  danger  when  his  coun- 
try was  invaded,  and  that  as  soon  as  his  father's 
affairs  became  settled,  he  would,  if  necessary, 
join  the  army. 

The  president  was  now  active  in  making 
every  exertion  in  his  power,  to  rouse  the  feelings 
of  his  countrymen  to  act  their  parts  with  ho* 
nour  in  the  scene  that  was  before  them.  He 
knew  that  much  of  the  responsibility  rested  on 
himself.  The  capacity  he  was  in  with  regard 
to  the  nation,  caused  the  most  material  and  im- 
portant business — of  directing  and  superintend- 
ing the  weighty  affairs  of  government — to  fall 
upon  his  hands  ;  and  such  was  the  situation  of 
the  country,  that  it  not  only  called  for  the  exer- 
tion, the  wisdom,  sound  judgment,  and  policy 
of  the  presidential  chair,  but  likewise  of  every 
patriotic  bosom  to  participate  in  their  endeavours 
to  oppose  the  depredations  against  it.  The 
chief  executive  was  entered  on  a  theatre  in 
which  he  was  to  act  a  conspicuous  part  in  this 


A  L  I  D  A. 


67 


war  of  America  with  Great  Britain,  and  to  oc- 
cupy a  station  in  the  page  of  history,  where  the 
interesting  detail  will  reach  the  ear  of  remotest 
ages  in  the  dates  of  time. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  father  of  Theodore  had 
been  absent  for  three  or  four  days  to  one  of  the 
commercial  sea-ports,  on  business  with  some 
merchants  with  whom  he  was  connected  in 
trade.  lie  returned  the  next  day  after  Theodore 
had  got  home  ;  his  aspect  and  his  conversation 
were  marked  with  an  assumed  and  unmeaning 
cheerfulness.  At  supper  he  ate  nothing,  dis- 
coursed much,  but  in  an  unconnected  and  hur- 
ried manner,  interrupted  by  long  pauses,  in 
which  he  appeared  to  be  buried  in  contempla- 
tion. After  supper  he  asked  Theodore  "  if  it 
were  not  possible  that  his  union  with  Alida 
could  be  concluded  within  a  few  days  ? "  Theo- 
dore, startled  at  so  unexpected  a  question,  re- 
plied, "  that  such  a  proposal  would  be  consid- 
ered extraordinary,  perhaps  improper ;  besides, 
when  AHda  had  named  the  day,  she  mentioned 
that  she  had  an  uncle  who  lived  at  a  distance, 
whose  daughter  was  to  pass  the  summer  with 
her,  and  was  expected  to  arrive  before  the  ap- 
pointed day.  It  would,  he  said,  be  a  delicate 
thing  for  him  to  anticipate  the  nuptials,  unless 
he  could  give  eome  cogent  reason  for  so  doiog. 


68 


A  L  I  D  A 


I,*-*. 


and  at  preseDt  he  was  not  apprised  that  any 
such  existed.  His  father,  after  i\  few  moments' 
hesitation,  answered,  '^I  have  reasons  which, 
when  told," — here  he  stopped,  suddenly  arose, 
hastily  walked  the  room  in  much  visible  agony 
of  mind,  and  then  retired  to  his  chamber . 

Theodore  and  his  mother  were  much  amazed 
at  so  strange  a  proceeding.  They  could  form 
no  conjecture  of  its  cause,  or  its  consequence. 
Theodore  passed  a  sleepless  night.  His  father's 
slumbers  were  interrupted  ;  he  was  restless  and 
uneasy  :  his  sleep  was  broken  and  disturbed  by 
incoherent  mutterings  and  plaintive  moans.  In 
the  morning  when  he  appeared  at  breakfast,  his 
countenance  wore  the  marks  of  dejection  and 
anguish.  He  scarcely  spoke  a  word  ;  and  after 
the  cloth  was  removed,  he  ordered  all  to  witlidraw 
except  Theodore  and  his  mother,  when,  with 
emotions  that  spoke  the  painful  feelings  of  his 
bosom,  he  thus  addressed  them  : 

"  For  more  than  thirty  years  I  have  been  en- 
gaged in  commerce,  in  order  to  acquire  inde- 
pendence for  myself  and  my  family.  To  ac- 
complish this,  I  became  connected  with  some 
English  importing  merchants,  in  a  sea-port 
town,  and  went  largely  into  the  English  trade. 
Success  crowned  our  endeavours.  On  balanc- 
ing our  accounts,  two  years  ago,  we  found   that 


A  L  I  D  A. 


69 


our  expectations  were  answered,  and  that  we 
were  sufficiently  wealthy  to  close  business,  which 
some  proposed  to  do  ;  it  was,  however,  agreed 
to  make  one  effort  more,  as  some  favourable 
circumstances  appeared  to  offer,  in  which  we 
adventured  very  largely,  on  a  fair  calculation  of 
liberal  and  extensive  proceeds.  Before  returns 
could  be  made,  the  war  came  on,  embarrass- 
ments ensued,  and  by  indubitable  intelligence 
lately  received,  we  find  that  our  property  in  Eng- 
land has  been  sequestered  ;  five  of  our  ships, 
laden  with  English  goods,  lying  in  English  har- 
bours, and  just  ready  to  sail  for  America,  have 
been  seized  as  lawful  prizes ;  added  to  this, 
three  vessels  from  the  Indies,  laden  with  island 
produce,  have  been  taken  on  their  homeward- 
bound  voyage,  and  one  lost  on  her  return  from 
Holland. 

"  This  wreck  of  fortune  I  might  have  surviv- 
ed, had  I  to  sustain  only  my  equal  dividend  of 
the  loss  ;  but  of  the  merchants  with  whom  I 
have  been  connected,  not  one  remains  to  share 
the  fate  of  the  event — all  have  absconded  or  se- 
creted themselves.  To  attempt  to  compound 
with  my  creditors  would  be  of  little  avail,  so  that 
the  consequence  to  me  is  inevitable  ruin. 

"  To  abscond  would  not  secure  me,  as  most 
of  my  remaining  property  is  vested  in  real  estate ; 


70 


A  L  I  D  A. 


k    .1 


and  even  if  it  would,  I  could  not  consent  to  it, 
1  could  not  consent  to  banish  myself  from  my 
country,  with  the  view  to  defraud  my  creditors. 
No :  I  have  lived  honestly,  and  honestly  will  I 
die.  By  fair  application  and  industry  my  wealth 
has  been  obtained,  anc'  it  shall  never  justly  be 
said  that  the  reputation  of  my  latter  days  were 
sullied  with  acts  of  meanness.  I  have  notified 
and  procured  a  meeting  of  the  creditors,  and 
have  laid  the  matter  before  them.  Some  appear- 
ed favourable  to  me,  others  insinuated  that  we 
"were  all  connected  in  fraudulent  designs  to 
swindle  our  creditors.  To  this  I  replied  ^  h 
becoming  spiritj  and  was  in  consequence  threat- 
ened with  immediate  prosecution.  Whatever 
may  be  the  event,  I  had  some  hopes  that  your 
happiness,  Theodore,  might  yet  be  secured. 
Hence  I  proposed  your  union  with  Alida  befoie 
our  misfortunes  should  be  promulgated.  Your 
parents  are  old,  a  little  will  serve  the  residue  of 
tlieir  days.  With  your  acquirements  you  may 
make  your  way  in  life.  I  shall  now  have  no 
property  to  give  you  ;  but  I  would  still  wish  you 
to  ensure  to  yourself  that  which  you  prize  far 
above,  and  without  which,  both  honours  and 
emoluments  would  be  unimportant  and  worth- 
less." 

At  this  moment  a  loud  rap  at  the  dobr  inter* 


A  L  I  D  A. 


71. 


niplcd  the  discourse,  and  three  men  were  ush- 
ered in,  which  proved  to  be  the  sheriff  and  his 
attendants,  sent  by  the  muie  inexorable  creditors 
of  Theodore's  father  and  couipaiiy,  to  levy  on 
the  property  of  the  former,  which  orders  they 
faithfully  executed  by  seizing  the  lands,  tene- 
ments, and  furniture.  We  will  noi  stop  tlie 
reader  to  moralize  on  this  disastrous  event— the 
feelings  of  the  family  can  better  be  conceived 
than  described. 

Hurled,  in  a  moment,  from  the  lofty  summit 
of  affluence  to  the  low  vale  of  indigence,  Chris- 
tian philosophy  after  a  while  came  to  the  aid  of 
the  parents,  but  who  can  realize  the  feelings  of 
the  son  ?  Thus  suddenly  cut  short  not  only  of 
his  prospects  of  future  independence,  but  even 
present  support,  what  would  be  the  event  of  his 
suit  to  Alida,  and  stipulated  marriage  ?  Was  it 
not  probable  that  her  father  would  now  cancel 
the  contract  ?  Could  she  consent  to  become  his 
in  his  present  penurious  situation  ?  and  dould 
he  himself  be  willing  (o  make  her  miserable  ? 

In  this  agitated  frame  of  mind  he  received  a 
letter  from  a  friend  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Alida,  requesting  him  to  come  immediately  to 
his  house,  whither  he  repaired  the  following  day. 

This  person  had  ever  been  the  unchanging 
fri(;nd  of  Theodore :  he  had  heard  of  the  mis- 


72 


A  L  I  DA. 


fortunes  of  his  family,  and  he  deeply  sympa- 
thized in  his  distress.  He  had  lately  married 
and  settled  near  the  residence  of  Alida's  father. 
His  name  was  Raymond.  When  Theodore 
arrived  at  the  house  of  his  friend,  he  was  receiv- 
ed with  the  same  disinterested  ardour  he  had 
ever  been  before,  in  the  day  of  his  most  un- 
bounded prosperity.  After  being  seated,  Ray- 
mond told  him  the  occasion  of  his  sending  for 
him  was  to  propose  the  adoption  of  certain  mea- 
sures which  he  doubted  not  might  be  considered 
highly  beneficial,  as  it  respected  his  future  peace 
and  happiness.  ^'Your  family  misfortunes," 
continued  he,  *'  have  reached  the  ear  of  Alida's 
father.  I  know  old  people^  generally  speaking, 
too  well  to  believe  he  will  now  consent  to  receive 
you  as  his  son  in-law  under  your  present  em- 
barrassments. The  case  is  difficult,  but  not  in* 
surmountable.  You  must  first  see  Alida ;  she 
is  now  in  the  next  room  ;  I  will  introduce  you 
in ;  converse  with  her,  after  which  I  will  lay 
my  plan  before  you." 

Theodore  entered  the  room.  Alida  was  sitting 
by  a  window  which  looked  into  a  pleasant  gar- 
den, and  over  verdant  meadows  where  tall  grass 
waved  to  the  evening  breeze ;  further  on,  low 
valleys  spread  their  umbrageous  thickets  where 
the  dusky  shadows  of  night  had  began  to  assem- 


A  L  r  D  A 


72 


ble.  On  the  high  hills  beyond,  the  tops  of  lofty 
forests,  majestically  moved  by  the  billowy  gales, 
caught  the  sun's  last  ray.  Fleecy  sunuiier 
clouds  hovered  around  the  verge  of  the  western 
horizon,  spangled  with  silvery  tints  or  fringed 
with  the  gold  of  evening.  A  mournfull}p»mur- 
muring  rividet  purled  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  garden,  on  the  borders  of  a  small  grove, 
from  whence  the  American  wild  dove  waAed 
her  sympathetic  moaning  to  the  ear  of  Alida. 
She. was  leaning  on  a  small  table  as  she  sat  by 
the  window,  which  was  thrown  up.  Her  atten- 
tion was  fixed.  She  did  not  perceive  Raymond 
and  Theodore  as  they  entered;  They  advanced 
towards  her ;  she  turned,  started,  and  arose. 
With  a  melancholy  smile  she  said  she  supposed 
it  was  Mrs.  Raymond  who  was  approaching,  as 
she  had  just  left  the  room.  Her  countenance 
was  dejected,  which,  on  seeing  Theodore,  light- 
ed up  into  a  languid  sprightliness.  It  was  evi- 
dent she  had  been  weeping,  Raymond  retired) 
and  Theodore  and  Alida  seated  themselves. 

'^  I  have  broken  in  upon  your  solitude,  per* 
haps  too  unseasonably,"  said  Theodore.  "It 
is  however  the  fault  of  Raymond  ;  he  invited 
me  to  walk  into  the  room,  but  did  not  inform 
me  that  you  were  alone." 

"  Your  presence  was  sudden  and  unexpected| 
7 


n 


74 


A  L  I  D  A. 


s 


but  not  unseasonable,"  replied  Alida.  ^*  I  hope 
that  you  did  not  consider  any  formality  neces- 
sary in  your  visits,  Theodore?" 

"  I  once  did  not  think  so,"  answered  Theo- 
dore ;  "  now  I  know  not  what  to  think — I  know 
not  how  to  act.  You  have  heard  of  the  misfor- 
tunes of  my  father's  family,  Alida  ?" 

*^  Yes,  I  have  heard  the  circumstances  attend- 
ing that  event,"  said  she  ;  "  an  event  in  which 
no  one  could  be  more  deeply  interested,  except 
the  immediate  sufferers,  than  myself"  \ 

"  Your  father  is  also  acquainted  with  my  pre- 
sent situation,"  said  Theodore  ;  "  and  how  did 
he  receive  the  inielligence  ?  " 

"  With  deep  regret,"  replied  Alida. 

"  Has  he  forbidden  you  to  admit  my  address- 
es any  longer  ?  if  even  in  an  unquahfied  or 
indirect  manner,  it  is  proper  I  should  know  it." 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  Alida.  "  Soon  after 
we  received  the  intelligence  of  your  family  mis- 
fortunes, my  father  came  into  the  room  where  I 
was  sitting  :  *  Alida,'  said  he,  *  your  conduct  has 
ever  been  that  of  a  dutiful  child, — mine,  of  an 
indulgent  parent.  My  ultimate  wish  is  to  see 
my  children,  v/hen  settled  in  life,  happy  and 
honourably  respected.  For  this  purpose  I  have 
bestowed  on  them  a  proper  education,  and  de- 
sign suitably  to  apportion  my  property  among 


A  L  I  D  A. 


n 


them.  On  their  part,  it  is  expected  they  will 
act  prudently  and  discreetly,  especially  in  those 
things  which  concern  materially  their  future 
peace  and  welfare :  the  principal  requisite  to  en- 
sure this  is  a  proper  connexion  in  marriage.' 
Here  my  father  paused  a  considerable  time,  and 
then  continued :  <  I  know,  my  child,  that  your 
situation  is  a  very  delicate  one.  Your  marriage- 
day  is  appointed ;  it  was  named  under  the  fair- 
est prospects.  By  the  failure  of  Theodore's 
father,  those  prospects  have  become  deeply  dark- 
ened, if  not  totally  obliterated.  To  commit 
your  fortune  through  life  to  a  person  in  his  pre- 
sent circumstances,  would  be  hazardous  in  the 
extreme.  The  day  named  can  at  least  be  sus- 
pended ;  perhaps  something  more  favourable 
may  appear.  At  any  rate,  I  have  too  much 
confidence  in  your  discretion  to  suppose  that  you 
will,  by  any  rash  act,  bring  reproach  either  upon 
yourself  or  your  connexions.'  Thus  spake  my 
father,  and  immediately  withdrew." 

"  In  our  present  dilemma,"  said  Theodore, 
"  what  is  proper  to  be  done  ?" 

"  It  is  difficult  to  determine,"  answered  Alida. 
"Should  my  father  expressly  forbid  our  union, 
or  to  see  each  other  at  present,  it  is  probable  he 
will  carry  his  commands  into  effect.  I  would 
advise  you  to  call  on  him  to-morrow  with  your 


/• 


76 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


i>  ,; 


usual  freedom.  VVhaiever  may  be  the  event. 
I  shall  deal  sincerely  with  you.  Mrs.  Raymond 
has  been  my  friend  and  associate  from  my  ear- 
liest years — Raymond  you  know.  In  them  we 
can  place  the  utmost  confidence.  From  them 
you  will  be  enabled  to  obtain  information  should 
I  be  prevented  from  seeing  you.  My  reliance 
en  Providence,  I  trust,  v/ill  never  be  shaken, 
b'Jt  my  future  prospects,  at  present,  are  dark 
and  gloomy.*' 

*<  Let  us  not  despair,"  said  Theodore  ;  "  per- 
haps  those  gloomy  clouds  which  now  hover 
around  us,  may  yet  be  dissipated  by  the  bright 
beams  of  joy.  Worth  and  innocence  are  the 
care  of  Heaven, — there  rests  my  hope.  To- 
morrow, as  you  propose,  I  will  call  at  your  fa- 
ther's. If  I  should  be  debarred  in  future  from 
seeing  you,  I  will  write  as  formerly,  and  direct 
the  letters  to  Raymond." 

Alida  now  returned  home,  attended  by  Theo- 
dore. A  whip-poor-will  tuned  its  nightly  J^ong 
at  a  distance  ;  but  the  soimd  which  had  so  late 
appeared  to  them  cheerful  anil  sprightly,  »ow 
passed  heavily  over  their  hearts. 


jf 


A  L  1  D  A 


n 


CHAPTER  XII. 


•*  O,  Happiness,  deceitful  is  thy  dream. 

Though  wreaths  all  blooming  hang  upon  thy  brow, 

And  quick  dissolves  the  visionary  gleam. 
Succeeded  soon  by  variouii  scenes  of  wo." 

When  Theodore  returned  to  the  house  of  his 
friend,  he  unlblded  the  plan  he  had  projected. 

"  No  sooner,"  said  Raymond,  "  was  I  inform- 
ed of  your  misfortunes,  than  I  was  convinced 
that  Alida's  father  (who  I  have  known  many 
years)  would  endeavour  to  dissolve  your  intend- 
ed union  with  his  daughter.  And  however  he 
may  dote  on  his  children,  or  value  their  happi- 
ness, he  will  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  his  better 
feelings  to  the  acxouiplwhment  of  his  wishes  to 
see  them  independent,  it  appears  that  you 
have  but  one  resource  left.  You  and  Alida  are 
now  engaged  by  the  most  solemn  ties,  by  every 
rite  except  those  which  are  ceremonial ;  these 
I.  would  advise  you  to  enter  into,  and  trust  to 
the  consequences.  Mrs.  Raymond  has  propos- 
ed the  scheme  to  Ahda,  but  implicitly  accustona- 
ed  to  fihal  obedience,  she  shudders  at  the  idea  of 
a  clandestine  marriage ;  but  when  her  father 
will  proceed  to  rigorous  measures  she  will,  I 
think,  consent  to  the  alternative.  The  world 
11  before  you,  Theodore,"  continued  he  ;  "  you 
7* 


y 


m 


U     ;■♦■? 


78 


A  L  I  D  1. 


II 


have  friends,  you  have  acquirements  which  wiU 
not  fail  you.  In  a  country  like  this  you  can 
scarcely  help  obtaining  a  competency,  which, 
with  the  other  requisites  you  have  in  your  pow- 
er, will  not  fail  to  insure  your  independence  and 
felicity."  * 

^But  the  limes  have  changed,"  said  Theo- 
dore, "  since  the  commencement  of  the  war,  and 
proi^bly  I  may  yet  have  to  join  the  army 
After  I  have  made  my  visit  on  the  morrow  to 
Alida's  father,  we  will  discourse  further  on  the 
subject." 

In  the  meantime,  Theodore  proceeded,  on  the 
morrow,  to  make  his  intended  visit.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  house,  he  saw  Alida  sitting  in  a 
shady  recess  at  one  end  of  the  garden,  near 
which  the  road  passed.  Si  e  was  leaning  with 
her  head  upon  her  hand  in  a  pensive  posture  ; 
a  deep  dejection  was  depicted  upon  her  features 
which  enUvened  into  a  transient  glow  as  soon 
as  she  saw  Theodore.  She  arose,  met  him,  and 
invited  him  into  the  house. 

Theodore  was  received  with  a  cool  reserve  by 
all  except  Alida,  Her  father  saluted  him  with 
a  distant  retiring  bow,  as  he  passed  with  her  to 
the  parlour.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  a 
lady  who  had  lately  come  to  reside  some  time  in 
the  family,  (who  was  a  relative  of  her  father's,) 


VI 


A  L  I  D  A. 


79 


entered  the  room  and  seated  herself  by  the  win- 
dow, alternately  humming  a  tune  and  staring 
at  Theodore,  without  speaking  a  word. 

This  interruption  was  not  of  long  continuance. 
Alida's  father  entered,  and  requested  the  two 
ladies  to  withdraw,  which  was  instantly  done ; 
he  then  addressed  Theodore  as  follows : 

"  When  I  gave  consent  for  your  union  with 
my  daughter,  it  was  on  the  conviction  that  your 
future  resources  would  be  adequate  to  support 
her  honourably  and  independently.  Circum- 
stances have  since  taken  place  which  render  this 
point  extremely  doubtful."  He  paused  for  a  re- 
ply, but  Theodore  was  silent.  He  continued, 
"  You  perhaps  may  say  that  your  acquirements, 
your  prudence,  and  youi  industry,  will  procure 
you  a  handsome  income ;  but  to  depend  on 
these  altogether  for  your  future  exigencies  is 
hazarding  peace,  honour  and  reputation,  at  a  sin- 
gle game  of  chance.  If,  therefore,  you  have  no 
resources  or  expectations  but  such  as  these,  your 
own  judgment  will  teach  you  the  necessity  of 
immediately  relinquishing  all  pretensions  to  the 
hand  of  Alida,  and  from  this  time  to  break  off 
all  conununication  with  my  daughter."  He 
then  immed'itely  left  the  room. 

Why  was  Theodore  t^peechless  through  tho 
whole  of  this  discourse  ?  What  reply  could  he 
have  made '/    What  were  the  prospects  bedne 


* 


80 


A  L  I  D  A. 


him  but  misery  and  wo  ?  Where,  indeed,  were 
the  means  by  which  Aiida  was  to  be  Yielded 
from  indigence,  if  connected  with  his  fortunes  ? 

The  idea  was  not  new,  but  it  came  upon  him 
at  this  time  with  redoubled  anguish.^  He  arose 
and  looked  around  for  Alida,  biit  she  was  not  to 
be  seen.  He  left  the  house  and  walked  slowly 
towards  Raymond^s.  At  a  little  distance  he 
met  Alida,  who  had  been  strolling  in  an  adjoin- 
ing avenue.  He  informed  her  of  all  that  had 
passed ;  it  was  no  more  than  they  both  expect- 
ed, yet  it  was  a  shock  their  fortitude  could 
scarcely  sustain.  Disappointment  seldom  finds 
her  votaries  prepared  to  receive  her. 

Alida  told  Theodore  that  she  knew  her  fa- 
ther's determinations  were  altogether  unchange- 
able at  present.  Her  brother,  she  said,  would 
be  at  home  in  a  few  days ;  how  he  would  act 
on  this  occasion,  she  was  unable  to  say  ;  but  if 
he  sanctioned  their  love^  he  would  have  but  fee- 
ble influence  with  her  father.  "  What  is  to  be 
the  end  of  these  troubles,"  continued  she,  "  it  is 
impossible  to  foresee.  Let  us  trust  in  the  mer^ 
cy  of  Heaven,  and  submit  to  its  dispensations. '* 

Theodore  and  Alida,  in  their  happier  days, 
had,  when  absent  from  each  other,  correspond- 
ed. This  method  it  was  now  thought  best  to 
resume.    It  was  agreed,  besides,  that  Theodore 


¥• 


A  L  I  ])  A  . 


81' 


should  frequently  visit  Raymond's,  and  Alida 
would  resort  there  also,  as  she  should  find  oppor- 
tunity. Having  concluded  on  this,  Alida  return- 
ed home,  and  Theodore  to  the  house  of  his 
friend.  ^ 

The  next  morning  Theodore  repaired  to  the 
dwelling  where  his  aged  parents  now  resided. 
His  bosom  throbbed  with  keen  anguish  when  he 
arrived  there  :  his  own  fate  unconnected  with 
that  of  Alida.  His  father  was  absent  when  he 
first  reached  home,  but  returned  soon  after.  A 
beam  of  joy  gleamed  upon  his  countenance  as 
he  entered  the  house.  "  Were  it  not,  Theo- 
dore, for  your  unhappy  situation,"  said  he,  ''  we 
should  once  more  be  restored  to  peace  and  hap- 
piness. A  few  persons  who  were  indebted  to 
me,  finding  that  I  was  to  be  sacrificed  by  my 
unfeeling  creditors,  reserved  those  debts  in  their 
hands,  and  have  now  paid  me,  amounting  to 
something  more  than  five  thousand  pounds. 
With  this  I  can  live  as  well  and  conveniently 
as  I  could  wish,  and  can  spare  some  for  your  pre- 
sent exigences,  Theodore." 

Theodore  thanked  his  father  for  his  kindness, 
but  told  him  that  from  his  former  liberality,  he 
had  yet  sufiicient  for  all  his  wants.  "  But  your 
Mffair  with  Alida;'  asked  his  lather,  *^  how  is 


82 


A  L  I  O  A. 


that  likely  to  terminate  V\  «  Favourably,  I  hope, 
sir,"  answered  Theodore. 

He  could  not  consent  to  disturb  the  happy 
.tranquillity  of  his  parents  by  reciting  his  own 
wretchedness.  He  passed  a  week  with  them. 
He  saw  them  once  more  comfortably  seated  at  a 
calm  retreat  in  the  country ;  he  saw  them  serene- 
ly blest  in  the  pleasures  of  returning  peace,  and 
a  ray  of  joy  illumined  his  troubled  bosom. 

*'  Again  the  youth  his  wonted  life  regained, 

A  transient  sparkle  in  his  eye  obtained, 

A  bright,  impassion'd  cheering  glow  express'd 

The  pleased  sensation  of  his  tender  breast : 

But  soon  dark  gloom  the  feeble  smiles  o'erspread ; 

Like  morn's  gay  hues,  the  fading  splendours  fled ; 

Returning  anguish  froze  his  feeling  soul ; 

Deep  sighs  burst  forth,  and  tears  began  to  roll ! 

His  memory  dwelt  on  Alida,  from  whom  he  had 
heard  nothing  since  he  had  last  seen  her.  He 
thought  of  the  difficulties  with  which  he  was 
surrounded.  He  thought  of  the  barriers  which 
were  now  opposed  to  their  happiness ;  and  he 
immediately  set  out  for  the  house  of  Raymond. 
He  arrived  at  his  residence  near  the  close  of  the 
day.  Raymond  and  his  lady  were  at  tea,  with 
several  young  ladies  that  had  passed  the  after- 
noon there.  Theodore  cast  an  active  glance  at 
the  company,  in  hopes  to  see  Alida  among  them, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


83 


but  she  was  not  there.  He  was  invited  and  took 
aseat  at  table. 

After  tea  was  over,  Raymond  led  Theodore 
into  an  adjoining  room.  "  You  have  come  in^ 
good  time,"  said  he.  "  Something  speedily  must 
be  done,  or  you  lose  Alida  forever.  The  day 
after  you  were  here,  her  father  received  a  letter 
from  Bonville,  in  which,  after  mentioning  the 
circumstances  of  your  father's  insolvency,  he 
hinted  that  the  consequence  would  probably  be 
a  failure  of  her  proposed  marriage  with  you, 
which  might  essentially  injure  the  reputation  of 
a  lady  of  her  standing  in  life ;  to  prevent  which, 
and  to  place  her  beyond  the  reach  of  calumny, 
he  offered  to  marry  her  at  any  appointed  day, 
provided  he  had  her  free  consent.  As  Bonville 
by  the  recent  death  of  his  father,  had  been  put 
in  possession  of  a  splendid  fortune,  the  proposi- 
tion might  possibly  allure  the  father  of  Alida, 
to  use  his  endeavour  to  bring  his  daughter  to 
yield  implicit  obedience  to  his  wishes.  Were 
he  to  command  her  to  live  single,  it  might  be 
endured  ;  but  if  he  should  endeavour  to  persuade 
her  to  discard  you  from  her  thoughts  entirely, 
and  to  give  her  hand  to  a  person,  she  could  have 
no  esteem  for,  would  be  to  perjure  those  principles 
of  truth  and  justice,  which  he  himself  had  ever 
taught  her  to  hold  most  inviolable.    To  add  to 


64 


A  L  I  D  A 


mi 

i 


i/* 


Alidads  distress,  Bonvilie  arrived  there  yesterday^ 
and  I  hope,  in  some  measure  to  alleviate  it,  Al-' 
bert,  her  brother,  came  this  morning.  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond has  dispatched  a  message  to  inform  Alida 

of  your  arrival,  and  to  desire  her  to  come  here 
ippmediately.      She  will  undoubtedly  comply 

with  the  invitation,  if  not  prevented  by  something 

extraordinary," 

Mrs.  Raymond  now  came  to  the  door  of  the 
room,  and  beckoned  to  her  husband,  who  went 
out,  but  soon  returned,  leading  in  Alida,  after' 
which  he  retired.  "  Oh,  Theodore,"  was  all  she 
could  say,  her  further  utterance  was  interrupted 
by  her  tears.  Theodore  led  her  to  a  seat,  and 
mingled  his  tears  with  hers  ;  but  was  unable  to 
speak.  Recovering  at  length,  he  begged  her  to 
moderate  her  grief. 

"Where,"  said  he,  "is  your  fortitude,  and 
your  firmness,  Alida,  which  I  have  so  often  seen 
triumphing  over  affliction  ?  ''  Her  extreme  an- 
guish pre^rented  a  reply.  Theodore  endeavoured 
to  console  her,  though  consolation  was  a  stranger 
to  his  own  breast. 

"  Let  us  not,"  said  he,  "  increase  our  flood  of 
affliction  by  a  tide  of  useless  sorrow^  Perhaps 
more  prosperous  days  are  yet  in  reserve  for  us  ; 
happiness  may  yet  be  ours.  Heaven  cannot  de- 
sert Alida,"  said  Theodore ;    "  as  well  might  it 


A  L  I  D  A. 


9B' 


desert  its  angels.  This  thorny  path  raay  lead 
to  ftiir  fields  of  light  and  verdure.  Tempests  arc 
succeeded  by  calms;  wars  end  in  peace;  the 
splendours  of  the  brightest  morning  arise  on  tho^ 
wings  of  blackest  midnight.  Troubles  will  not 
always  last."  t 

The  grief  which  had  almost  overwhelmed 
Alida,  now  began  to  subside,  as  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  gradually  cease  their  tumultuous  commo- 
tion after  the  turbulent  winds  are  laid  asleep. 
Deep  and  long  drawn  sighs  succeeded.  The 
irritation  of  her  feelings  had  caused  a  more  than 
usual  glow  upon  her  check,  which  faded  away 
as  she  became  composed,  until  a  livid  paleness 
spread  itself  over  her  leatures.    *         ^  '* 

Ra3rmond  and  his  lady  now  came  into  the 
room.  They  strenuously  urged  th^  propriety 
and  necessity  for  Theodore  and  Alida,  to  enter 
into  the  bands  of  matrimony. 

"  The  measure  would  be  hazardous,"  remark- 
ed Alida.  "  My  circumstances,"  said  Theodore. 
"Not on  that  account,"  interrupted  Alida,  "but 
the  displeasure  of  my  father." 

"  Come  here,  Alida,  to-morrow  evening,'*  said 
Mrs.  Raymond.  "  In  the  mean  time  you  will 
consider  the  matter  and  then  determine."  To 
this  Alida  assented,  and  prepared  u)  return  home. 

Theodore  attended  her  as    far  as  the  gate 

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WIBSTIR.N.Y,  MSIO 

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A  L  I  D  A 


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which  opened  into  the  yard  surrounding  the 
dwelling.  .  It  W4s  dangerous  for  bim  to  go  fur^ 
ther,  lest  he  should  be  discovered  even  by  a  do- 
mestic of  the  family.  He  stood  here  awhile 
looking  anxiously  after  Alida  as  she  walked  up 
the  avenue,  her  whijLe  robes  now  invisible,  now 
dimly  seen,  until  they  were  totally  obscured, 
mingling  with  the  gloom  and  darkness  of  the 
night,  ere  she  reached  the  door  of  her  father's 
mansion. 

"  Thus,"  said  Theodore,  "  fades  the  angel  of 
peace  from  the  visionary  eyes  of  the  war-worn  sol- 
dier, when  it  ascends  in  the  dusky  clouds  of  early 
morning,  while  he  slumbers  on  the  field  of  re- 
cent battle."  With  mounful  forebodings  he  re- 
turned to  the  house  of  his  friend.  After  passing 
a  sleepless  night,  he  arose,  and  walked  out  into 
an  adjoining  field ;  he  stood  for  some  time  lean- 
ing, in  deep  contemplation,  against  a  tree,  when 
he  heard  quick  footsteps  behind  him.  He 
turned  around,  and  saw  Albert  approaching.  In 
a  moment  they  were  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
mingled  tears.  They  soon  returned  to  Ray- 
mond's where  they  conversed  largely  on  present 
affairs. 

"  I  have  discoursed  with  my  father  on  the  sub- 
ject," said  Albert ;  "  I  have  urged  him  with  every 
possible  argument  to  relinquish  his  determina- 


♦ . 


#- 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


87 


na- 


tion to  keep  you  and  Alida  separate,  i  fear, 
however,  he  is  inflexible."        •      * .  • 

"  To  endeavour  to  assuage  the  grief  which 
rent  Alida's  bosom  was  my  next  object,  and  in 
this  I  trust  I  have  not  been  unsuccessful.  You 
will  see  her  this  evening,  and  will  find  her  more 
calm  and  resigned.  You,  Theodore,  must  ex- 
ert your  fortitude.  The  w^ays  of  Heaven  are  in- 
scrutible,  but  they  are  right.  We  must  acqui- 
esce in  its  dealings;  we  cannot  alter  its  decrees. 
Resignation  to  its  will,  whether  merciful  or  af- 
flictive, is  one  of  those  eminent  virtues  which 
adorn  the  good  man's  character,  and  will  ever 
find  a  brilliant  reward  in  the  regions  of  unsul- 
lied happiness." 

Albert  told  Theodore  that  circumstances  com- 
pelled him  that  day  to  reUirn  to  the  city.  **I 
would  advise  you,"  said  he, "  to  remain  here  un- 
til your  aflair  comes  to  some  final  issue.  It 
must,  1  think,  ere  long,  be  terminated.  Per- 
haps you  and  my  sister  may  yet  be  happy." 

Theodore  feelingly  expressed  his  gratitude  to 
Albert.  He  found  in  him  that  disinterested 
friendship  which  his  early  youth  had  experienced. 
Albert  the  same  day  departed  for  New- York. 

The  shades  of  night  came  on  almost  insensi- 
bly, as  Theodore  was  anxiously  expecting  Alida. 
He  anticipated  the   consolation  her   presence 


' 


il 


! 


m-"i 


88 


A  L  I  t>  A. 


would  be  tow.  Albert  had  told  him  she  was 
more  composed.  The  evening  passed  on,  but 
she  came  not,  * 

Raymond  assured  him  she  would  soon  be 
there.  He  pated  the  room,  and  then  walked  out 
on  the  way  whither  she  was  expected  to  come. 
He  hesitated  some  time  whether  to  advance  or 
return.  It  was  possible,  though  not  probable, 
that  she  might  have  come  some  other  way.  He 
hastened  back  to  the  house  of  his  friend ;  she 
had  not  arrived. 

"  Something  extraordinary,"  said  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, *'  has  undoubtedly  prevented  her  coming. 
Perhaps  she  is  ill."  Theodore  shuddered  at  the 
suggestion.  He  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was 
past  twelve  o'clock. 

Again  he  hastily  sallied  out  and  took  the 
road  to  her  father's.  The  night  was  exceed- 
ingly dark,  being  illuminated  only  by  the  feeble 
ghmmering  of  the  twinkling  stars.  When  he 
came  within  sight  of  the  house,  and  as  he  drew 
near,  no  lights  were  visible,  all  was  still  and  si- 
lent. He  entered  the  yard,  walked  up  the  ave- 
nue, and  approached  the  door.  A  solemn  still- 
ness prevailed  around,  interrupted  only  by  the 
discordance  of  nightly  insects.  The  dwelling 
was  shrouded  in  darkness.  In  Alida's  room  no 
gleam  of  light  appeared. 


A  L  '1  D  A  . 


.89 


"  They  are  all  buried  in  sleep/' said  Theodore, 
deeply  sighing,  ^*  and  I  have  only^to  returil  in 
disappointment/'  "  r 

Theodore  now  withdrew  slowly  from  the  place, 
and  repassed  the  way  he  came.-  As  he  went 
back  through  the  garden,  he  found  a  person 
standing  at  the  foot  of  it,  near  the  road.  After  a 
moment's  scrutiny,  he  perceived  it  to  be  Bonvdle. 

"  What,  my  chevalier,  why  are  you  here  ?  " 
said  he  to  Theodore.  "  Hast  thou,  then,  eluded 
the  watchful  eyes  of  Argus,  and  the  vigilance  of 
the  dragon?  "  •    / 

"  Unfeeling  and  impertinent  intruder  ! "  re- 
torted Theodore,  '<  dost  thou  add  impudence  to 
thy  interference  ?  Go,"  said  he,  "  you  are  un- 
worthy of  my  anger.  Pursue  thy  groveling 
schemes.  Strive  to  win  to  your  arms  a  lady 
who  must  ever  continue  to  despise  you." 

"  Theodore,"  replied  Bonville,  **  You  and  I 
were  rivals  in  the  pursuit  for  the  hand  of  Alida. 
Whether  from  freak  or  fortune  the  preference 
was  given  to  you,  I  know  not ;  and  I  retired  in 
silence.  From  coincidence  of  circumstances,  I 
think  she  will  now  be  induced  to  give  the  pre- 
ference to  me,  especially  after  her  prospects  of 
connecting  with  you  were  cut  off  by  the  events 
which  ruined  your  fortune.  You,  Theodore, 
have  yet,  I  find,  to  learn  the  character  of  woman. 

8* 


i 


t 


\\\ 

A 

I' 


90 


A  L  I  D  A. 


It  has  been  my  paiticular  study.  Alida,  no\^ 
#'  ardently  impassioned  by  first  impressions,  irritated 
by  recent  disappointment,  her  feelings  delicate 
and  vivid,  her  atfections  animated",  it  would  be 
strange  if  she  could  suddenly  reUnquish  prema- 
ture attachments  founded  on  such  premises. 
But  remove  iier  from  your  presence  one  year, 
with  only  distant  and  uncertain  prospects  of 
seeing  you  again,  admit  me  as  the  substitute  in 
your  absence,  and  she  accepts  my  hand  as  freely 
as  she  would  now  receive  yours.  I  had  no  design. 
It  never  was  my  wish  to  marry  her  without 
her  free  consent  ; — that  I  beheve  1  shall  yet  ob- 
tain. Under  existing  circumstances,  it  is  im- 
possible but  that  you  must  be  separated.  Then, 
when  cool  deliberation  succeeds  to  the  wild  va- 
garies of  fancy,  she  will  discover  the  dangerous 
precipice  to  which  her  present  inclinations  lead. 
She  will  prefer  indifference  and  splendour  to 
love  and  a  cottage.  At  present  I  relinquish 
all  further  pursuit;  to-morrow  I  shall  re- 
turn home.  When  Alida,  from  calm  delibera- 
tion, and  the  advice  of  friends,  shall  freely  con- 
sent to  yield  me  her  hand,  I  shall  return  to  re- 
ceive it.  I  came  from  my  lodgings  this  evening 
to  declare  these  intentions  to  her  father  ;  but  it 
being  later  than  I  was  aware  of,  the  family  had 
gone  to  rest.    I  was  about  to  return,  but,  looking 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


91 


back  again  at  the  house,  to  see  it  I  could  descry 
a  light,  I  stood  a  moment  by  the  garden  gate, 
when  you  approached  and  discovered  me."  So 
saying,  he  bade  Theodore  good  night,  and  walk- 
ed hastily  away. 

"  I  find  he  knows  not  the  character  of  Alida," 
said  Theodore,  as  he  pursued  his  way  to  Ray- 
mond's. When  he  arrived  at  the  house  of  his 
friend,  he  related  all  that  passed  between  him- 
self and  Bonville ;  and  from  what  he  related, 
the  Raymonds  concluded  that  Alida  must  be 
watched  and  guarded* 


(t. 


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A  L  I  D  A 


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:'■     .'      ,■' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


.  Friendship  !  thou  sovereign  balm  of  every  CB.;e, 
''^hen  all  serene  and  placidly  appear ; 

Domestic  happiness !  of  that  possest,  . 

Then  may  we  leave  to  Providence  the  rest.  ^ 

The  father  of  Alida  now  thought  proper  to 
enter  into  a  second  marriage.  A  lady  of  woith 
and  understanding  had  wrought  upon  his  fancy, 
and  won  his  particular  regard.  Her  elegance  of 
manner  and  dignified  deportment  engaged  gene- 
ral attention  ;  and  although  she  was  rather  ad- 
vanced in  life,  yet "  the  remains  of  former  beauty 
were  still  visible  in  her  appearance." 

She  was  honourably  descended  from  English 
parents,  who  had  resided  in  New- York  since  the 
revolution.  Her  father  had  been  actively  en- 
gaged in  business  there,  which  had  been  ulti- 
mately crowned  with  the  successful  gifts  of  for- 
tune. 

Her  education  had  been  governed  by  the  strict- 
ness of  the  English  discipline.  A  foundation 
laid  in  early  piety  continued  to  influence  her 
mind  with  unaffected  ardour,  blended  with  a 
generous  benevolence,  the  genuine  effects  of  the 
inexhaustible  goodness  of  her  heart.  She  was 
one  who  manifested  to  the  world  that  a  "  doer 
of  good"  is  far  preferable  to  any  other  character, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


93 


and  in  a  superlative  degree  above  those  who 
maintain  high  principles  in  theory,  without  ever* 
once  reducing  them  to  practice.  ^ 

This  lady  had  an  only  sister  who  married  a 
native  of  Ireland,  and  after  the  course  of  a  few 
years  went  to  reside  there,  where  she  had  re- 
cently died.      The   children   returned  to  this 
country,  having  lost  their  father  long  before, 
and  several  of  her  nephews  now  resided  in  the 
city.    Having  been  always  accustomed  to  reside 
in  town  herself,  where  her  many  excellent  qua- 
lities had  endeared  her  to  numerous  friends  and 
acquaintances,  who  would  now  feel  themselves 
lost  without  her  society,  therefore  the  parents  of 
Alida  formed  the  conclusion  to  pass  their  winters 
in  the  city,  and  return  to  the  country  in  the  sum- 
mer season.  "     '' ' 
In  the  mean  time,  Alida's  father  thought  the 
event  fortunate,  and  was  pleased  at  this  time  to 
remove  his  daughter  from  the  place  where  the 
late  scenes  appeared  so  trying  and  afflictive,  with 
the  hope  that  in  mingling  her  with  the  gay 
world  she  would  in  a  while  forget  Theodore, 
while  he  in  his  turn  would  be  induced  to  leave 
the  neighbourhood. 

It  was  now  at  that  season  when  weary  sum- 
mer had  lapsed  into  the  fallow  arms  of  autumn, 
and  was  approaching  to  the  chilly  breezes  of 


.1 


\ . 


94 


A  L  I  D  A 


winter.  The  morning  was  clear^  and  ihe  light 
gales  bore  »^^igorating  coolness  on  their  wings 
as  tl^  tremulously  agitated  the  foliage  of  the 
western  forest,  or  fluttered  among  the  branches 
of  the  trees  that  surrounded  the  mansion.  The 
green  splendours  of  the  lawn  had  faded  into  a 
yellow  lustre;  the  flowery  verdure  of  the  fields 
was  changed  to  a  russet  hue. 

A  robin  chirped  in  a  favourite  tree  in  the  yard ; 
a  wren  chattered  beneath,  while  some  few  soli- 
tary birds  still  continued  to  warble  their  notes 
among  the  leaves  of  the  aspen. 

The  surrounding  groves  partially  rung  with 
melody ;  while  deep  in  the  adjacent  wilderness 
the  woodpecker,  hammering  on  some  dry  and 
blasted  trees,  filled  the  woods  with  reverberant 
echoes.  .  .  ^^    ; 

The  face  of  the  Sound  was  -uffled  by  the 
lingering  breezes,  as  they  idly  wandered  over  its 
surface.  Long  Island  was  thinly  enveloped  in 
smoky  vapour ;  scattered  along  its  shores  lay  the 
numerous  small  craft,  with  larger  ships,  of  the 
hostile  fleet.  A  few  skifTs  were  passing  and  re- 
passing the  Sound.  Several  American  war- 
sloops  lay  on  a  point  which  jutted  out  from  the 
main  land  into  the  river. 

Alida  walked  leisurely  around  the  yard,  con- 
templating the  various  beauties  of  the  scene,  the 


\ 


1 


m 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


95 


images  of  departed  joys  (that  she  was  now  about 
to  leave).  The  days  when  Theodore  partici- 
pated with  her  in  admiring  the  splendqurs  of 
rural  prospect,  raised  in  her  bosom  the  sigh  of 
deep  regret.  She  entered  the  garden,  and  traced 
the  walks,  now  overgrown  with  weeds  and  tufted 
grass.  The  flower-beds  were  choked  with  the 
low  running  brambles,  and  tall  rushes  and 
daisies  had  usurped  the  empire  of  the  kitchen 
garden.  The  viny  arbour  was  principally  gone 
to  decay,  and  the  eglantine  blushed  mournfully 
along  the  fences. 

Alida  continued  to  walk  the  garden  until  the 
servant  informed  her  that  the  carriage  was 
waiting  to  take  her  to  the  city.  ^^     -^ 

Although  they  set  out  rather  late  in  the  day, 
they  arrived  in  town  some  hours  before  sunset. 
They  drove  immediately  to  their  dwelling,  which 
was  situated  in  a  pleasant  part  of  Greenwich- 
street,  near  the  Battery.       *v^  ^^   u 

Alida,  after  she  had  thrown  off  her  travelling 
apparel,  seated  herself  by  the  window  in  silence. 
Her  mind  was  absorbed  in  deep  reflection  and 
thoughtfulness.  She  watched  the  slow  declin- 
ing sun,  as  it  was  sinking  beneath  the  horizon. 
Pensive  twilight  spread  her  misty  mantle  over 
the  landscape.  The  western  sky  glowed  with 
the  spsingles  of  evening ;  deepening  glooms  ad- 


[ 


I 


1 


h 


96 


A  L  I  D  A. 


vauced.  The  last  beam  of  day  faded  from  thd 
vieW)  and  all  was  enveloped  in  night.  InnU' 
merable  stars  glittered  ki  the  firmament,  inter' 
mingling  their  qtiivering  lustre  with  the  pale 
splendours  of  the  milky  way.  < 

When  Alida  was  summoned  to  tea,  her  pa- 
rents made  various  observations  to  endeavour  to 
amuse  her  thoughts,  and  draw  her  from  her 
taciturnity.  After  tea  she  again  returned  to  the 
window,  where  she  sat  till  a  late  hour,  apparent- 
ly in  deep  meditation,  till  at  length  growing 
weary  and  restless,  she  retired  to  her  room. 

As  she  had  for  several  nights  in  succession 
slept  but  little,  she  soon  fell  into  a  slumber,  and 
did  not  awake  till  near  the  dawn  of  day.  She 
did  not  close  her  eyes  again  to  sleep.  Daylight 
soon  appeared,  and  the  cheerful  sun  darting  his 
enlivening  rays  through  the  windows  of  this  an> 
tique  mansion,  recovered  her  exhausted  spirits, 
and  dissipated  in  some  measure  the  cheerless  re> 
flections  that  still  continued  to  hover  about  her 
imagination.  „  . , 

She  arose,  and  went  down  to  breakfast  with 
spirits  somewhat  revived,  and  changed  to  a  tem- 
porary resignation  to  past  events  and  recent  oc- 
currences. A  thought  impressed  her  mind, 
which  gave  her  new  consolation. 

^*  Who  knows,''  said  she,  ^^  but  that  the  mn  of 


A  L  I  D  A. 


97 


peace  may  yet  dispel  the  glooms  of  these  distress- 
ful hourS|  and  restore  this  throbbing  bosom  to  its 
former  serenity  7"  « 

In  the  mean  time,  Theodore  remained  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Alida  until  he  heard  the  family 
had  left  and  gone  to  the  city.  He  then  prepared 
himself  to  set  out  early  the  next  day  for  the  ha- 
bitation of  his  parents. 

He  informed  Raymond  of  his  promise  to  write 
to  Alida,  and  to  transmit  letters  through  his 
agency  for  her  inspection  every  convenient  op- 
portunity.    '  .  -^    .  \ 

After  passing  a  weary  watchful  night,  he  arose 
at  the  first  dawning  of  day,  and  proceeded  on 
his  journey  with  a  heavy  heart  and  painful  re- 
flections. iDir 

After  he  had  passed  through  the  neighbouring 
village  and  gained  the  bridge,  he  looked  over 
and  bade  the  residence  of  Alida  a  mournful  fare* 
well.  Fearful  forebodings  crossed  his  mind  that 
they  were  separated  forever ;  then  again  those 
more  consolatory,  that  perhaps  after  a  long  de- 
lay, he  and  Alida  might  yet  again  meet  and  be 
happy.        .'.-  ;*-  -  i..-..^^.v- 

Traits  of  glory  had  painted  the  eastern  skies. 

The  glittering  day-star,  having  unbarred  the 

portals  of  light,  began  to  transmit  its  retrocessive 

lustre.   Thin  scuds  flew  swiftly  over  the  moon's 
9 


98 


A  L  I  D  A. 


^ 


decrescent  form.  Low,  hollow  winds  murmured 
among  the  bushes,  or  brushad  the  limpid  drops 
from  tte  intermingling  foliage. 

The  dusky  shadows  of  night  fled  to  the  deep 
glens  and  rocky  caverns  of  the  wilderness.  The 
American  lark  soared  high  isr  the  air,  consecrat- 
ing its  matin  lay  to  morn's  approaching  splen- 
dours. 

The  woodlands  and  forest  tops  on  the  high 
hills  caught  the  sun's  first  ray,  which  widening 
and  extending  soon  gemmed  the  landscape  with 
a  varying  brightness. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Theodore 
arrived  at  his  father's.  He  found  his  parents 
contented  and  happy  at  their  present  residence, 
which  was  extremely  pleasant,  and  afforded 
them  many  accommodations. 

"  You  have  been  long  gone,  my  son,"  said  his 
father :  ^<  I  scarcely  knew  what  had  become  of 
you.  Since  I  have  become  a  farmer,  I  know 
little  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  world,  and  we 
were  never  happier  in  our  lives.  We  live  as  in- 
dependently as  we  could  desire,  and  realize  the 
blessings  of  health  and  contentment.  Our  only 
disquietude  is  on  your  account,  Theodore.  Your 
affair  with  Alida,  I  suppose,  is  not  so  favourable 
as  you  could  wish.  But  despair  not,  my  sen  ; 
hope  is  the  harbinger  of  fairer  prospects ;  rely  on 


I 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


99 


Providence,  which  never  deserts  those  who  sub- 
missively bow  to  its  dispensations.  Place  entire 
confidence  and  dependence  on  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing/' said  his  father,  '^  and  the  triumph  of  forti- 
tude and  resignation  will  be  yours."  His  father 
paused.  His  reasonings,  however  they  convinced 
the  understanding,  could  not  heal  the  wounds  of 
Theodore's  bosom.  In  Alida  he  had  looked  for 
as  much  happiness  as  earth  could  atford,  nor 
could  he  see  any  prospect  in  life  which  could  re- 
pair to  him  her  loss. 

Unwilling  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  his  pa- 
rents, he  did  not  wish  to  acquaint  them  with  the 
whole  affair  of  his  troubles.  He  answered,  that 
perhaps  all  might  yet  be  well ;  that,  however,  in 
the  present  state  of  his  mind,  he  thought  a  change 
of  place  and  scene  might  be  of  advantage.  He 
said,  moreover,  thai  he  no  longer  had  an  excuse, 
and  that  circumstances  now  compelled  him  to 
join  the  army.         ^  j  ^ 

A  sorrow  unknown  before  seized  iipon  the 
minds  of  his  parents  as  Theodore  repeated  these 
words.  Sad  and  dreadful  ideas  crowded  their 
imagination  at  this  gloomy  period,  when  in  the 
war's  dread  emergency  they  must  risk  the  life  of 
an  only  son,  to  march  to  the  field  of  battle.  'Tis 
true,  he  might  be  again  restored  to  them,  but 
were  there  not  a  thousand  chances  to  one? 


i 


100 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


They  were  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  at  these 
thoughts,  till  at  length  they  finally  felt  them- 
selves obliged  to  consent  to  what  they  considered 
his  inevitable  destiny,  leaving  the  result  of  their 
united  wishes  and  prayers  for  his  safe  preserva- 
tion to  an  overruling  Providence. 

His  father  then  offered  him  money  he  had  on 
hand  to  defray  his  expenses.  Theodore  refused, 
saying,  his  resources  had  not  yet  left  him.  He 
then  disposed  of  his  horses  and  carriages,  the  in* 
signia  of  his  better  days,  but  now  useless  ap-  \ 
pendages.  '  •  ,  .        ,. 

After  taking  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  pa- 
rents, he  set  out  the  ensuing  day  to  join  his 
companions  on  their  route  to  meet  the  army, 
which  was  far  distant.  When  hostilities  first 
commenced,  Theodore  had  said,  that  when  it 
became  actually  necessary,  and  his  father^s  affairs 
were  settled,  he  would  enlist  in  the  service  of  his 
country.  Nevertheless,  he  journeyed  with  a 
heavy  heart  and  an  enfeebled  frame  of  ^^pirits, 
through  disappointment,  vexation,  and  fatigue. 
The  scenes  he  had  so  lately  experienced  moved 
in  melarcholy  succession  over  his  mind,  and  his 
despondency  had  not  abated,  even  in  a  small 
degree,  when  he  reached  the  army. 

He  now  joined  the  forces  under  Colonel  Van 
Renssalaer,  "  Who,  with  a  detachment  of  about 


AL  I  D  ▲. 


101 


one  thousand  men,  crossed  the  river  Niagara, 
and  attacked  the  British  on  dueenstown  heights. 
This  detachment  succeeded  in  dislodging  the 
enemy,  but  not  being  reinforced  by  the  militia 
from  the  American  side,  as  was  expected,  they 
were  ultimately  repulsed,  and  obliged  to  surren- 
der. Eight  hundred  British  soldiers  now  came 
to  the  aid  of  the  others,  and  pressed  on  to  renew 
the  attack.  The  Americans  for  a  time  continued 
to  struggle  against  this  force,  but  were  finally 
obliged  to  surrender  themselves  prisoners  of  war." 

The  fate  of  war  was  hard  for  Theodore  on  his 
first  expedition.  He  was  taken  and  carried  among 
the  rest  on  board  a  prison-ship,  and  sent  with  a 
number  of  others  to  England.    . 

This  disastrous  event,  however,  was  shortly 
followed  bv  one  more  fortunate  for  the  Ameri- 
cans.  *^  General  Dearborn  embarked  at  Sack- 
ett's  Harbour,  with  sixteen  hundred  men,  on  an 
expedition  against  York,  and  succeeded  in  the 
capture  of  that  place. 

"  York  was  the  seat  of  government  for  Upper 
Canada,  and  the  principal  depot  for  the  Niagara 
frontier.  More  naval  stores  were  taken  by  the 
Americans  than  could  be  carried  away.  The 
governrwient  hall  was  burned,  contrary  to  the 
orders  of  the  American  general."  ,   ;    , 


■ 


1^ 


102 


A  L  t  D  A. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

*'  See,  winter  conies,^*  and  boisterous  on  its  way, 
Seo  darkening  clouds  obscure  the  cheerful  day. 
Its  hollow  voice  is  muttering  in  the  gale, 
While  chilling  hail  and  snow  the  earth  assaiU 

Some  length  of  time  had  elapsed  since  the 
family  had  been  settled  in  the  city,  and  the  cool 
breezes  of  autumn  had  changed  to  the  hoarse 
murmuring  gales  of  winter.  No  sound  scarcely 
was  heard  except  blustering  winds,  or  their 
whistling  murmurs  around  the  angles  of  the 
mansion,  blended  with  the  more  slow,  monoto- 
nous cadence  of  the  advancing  waves  of  the 
Hudson. 

The  evenings  were  cold,  dark,  and  gloomy, 
except  when  the  resplendent  rays  of  the  moon's 
mild  lustre  was  seen  dispensing  its  light  and 
cheering  influence,  dissipating  in  a  material  de- 
gree the  dreariness  of  the  evenings  of  this  incle- 
ment season.  Winter  had  commenced,  sullen 
and  sad,  with  all  his  rising  train.  Vapours,  and 
clouds,  and  storms  succeeded  each  other.  In- 
stead of  copious  showers  of  rain,  snow  and  ice 
were  spread  over  the  pavement  in  heavy  masses. 

One  evening  as  a  storm  was  approaching, 
and  the  winds  blew  tremendously,  and  the  snow 
began  to  fall  in  abundance.  Where  now,  thought 


1 


A  L  I  D  A. 


103 


Aiida,  is  Theodore?  though  the  cold  may  pierce 
and  storms  molest  him,  yet  there  is  no  friend  to 
sympathise  with  him  in  his  distress,  or  to  miti< 
gate  the  heaviness  of  his  cheerless  hours,  and 
shed  the  rays  of  gladness  over  his  troubled  mind. 

How  great  the  contrast  is  now  with  his  for- 
mer fortunes,  how  severe  his  afflictions !  He 
feels  not  so  much  the  loss  of  wealth,  but  he  sighs 
for  the  smiles  of  former  associates  and  friends, 
She  looked  upon  her  finger,  there  was  the  ring 
he  had  given  her  in  happier  days.  This  she 
vowed  to  keep  and  cherish,  through  every  trial 
and  affliction.  It  was  Theodore's  last  gift. 
Where  was  he  now  ?  What  dangers  he  may 
have  encountered,  and  what  hardships  endured ! 
and  what  might  he  not  yet  have  to  suffer,  ere 
she  should  behold  him  again,  if  indeed  she  ever 
should. 

She  had  not  heard  from  him  in  a  long  time. 
He  had  promised  to  write — why  was  he  not  faith- 
ful to  his  promise?  <*      >  ;       h^  ^ 

Thus  meditated  Alida.  At  length  she  arti- 
culated in  a  calmer  tone,  and  her  feelings  became 
more  composed. 

Infinite  Ruler  of  events  !  Great  Sovereign  of 
this  ever-changing  world !  Omnipotent  Con- 
troller of  vicissitudes !  Omniscient  Dispenser  of 
destinies !  In  thy  hands  are  all  things  terrestrial, 


I 


104 


A  L  I  D  A. 


and  the  condition  of  our  lives  are  at  thy  disposal 
K  The  beginning,  the  progression,  and  the  end  is 
thine.  Unsearchable  are  thy  purposes  ! — mys- 
terious thy  movements ! — inscrutable  thy  opera- 
tions !  Thy  will  must  be  done.  To  bow  in 
submission  to  thy  decrees,  is  right : — for  we  are 
unable  to  scrutinize  the  past,  and  incompetent 
to  explore  the  future. 

Alida  had  lived  retired  since  she  had  been  in 
town,  although  in  the  midst  of  gay  scenes  of  ev- 
ery description.  The  acquaintance  she  had  made  I 
were  few.  Her  second  mother  had  no  relatives 
there,  except  her  sister's  children,  which  formed 
a  principal  part  of  her  society. 

Her  oldest  nephew  was  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age.  The  personal  appearance  of  Mr. 
Bolton  was  higlily  prepossessing.  He  was  parti- 
cularly distinguished  for  his  genuine  politeness, 
afi'ability,  and  witticism. 

He  inherited  a  considerable  patrimony  from 
his  grand-father,  which  proved  to  be  a  disadvan- 
tage, as  it  prevented  him  from  applying  himself 
to  any  particular  occupation.  Since  his  aunt's 
marriage,  and  his  acquaintance  with  Alida,  his 
visits  had  become  frequent,  accompanied  with 
partial  attention ;  though  on  her  part,  indiffer- 
ence was  visible,  as  his  earnest  assiduities,  were 


A  L  I  D  A. 


105 


altogether  unexpected,  and  implied  a  thing  she 
had  not  thought  of. 

No  one  had  as  yet  observed  his  g. owing  fond- 
ness and  predilection  for  Alida,  except  her  father, 
to  whom  it  was  by  no  means  pleasing.  The 
habitual  idleness  of  this  young  gentleman,  caus- 
ed him  in  a  great  measure  to  pass  over  the  con- 
sideration of  his  many  excellent  qualities. 

Among  those,  with  whom  Alida  had  become 
acquainted  during  her  residence  in  the  city,  was 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  her  father's.  This 
gentleman  had  place  among  the  merchants  in 
Broadway,  and  who,  by  a  long  course  of  in- 
dustrious trading  had  amassed  a  handsome  com- 
petency. There  was  something  peculiar  in  his 
air  and  manner,  which  distinguished  him  among 
the  men  of  business. 

Speak  of  a  person  of  commanding  aspect,  tall, 
slender,  and  majestic;  quick  in  step,  fluent  in 
speech,  with  large  light  blue  eyes,  and  light  hair, 
approaching  a  little  to  the  yellow.  That  was 
Mr.  More.  There  was  a  neatness  and  uniform- 
ity in  his  appearance  and  dress.  He  might  have 
been  known  by  his  blue  suit,  white  vest,  and 
cambric  hankerchief  He  was  polite  and  agree- 
able, and  by  his  associates,  he  was  much  esteem- 
ed as  an  acquaintance.  His  judgment  was  ma- 
ture in  regard  to  his  business.    He  managed  his 


< 


106 


A  L  I  D  A 


affairs  wLlh  prudeDce  and  economy,  and  still  stood 
firm  amid  the  shock  of  failures  around  him. 

Though  his  means  were  ample,  his  expendi- 
tures were  not  extravagant ;  every  thing  about 
him  partook  of  the  convenient  and  useful.  Suit- 
ably free  from  the  fashion-mania  which  some- 
times attack  young  people  like  an  epidemic.  He 
preferred  rational  pleasures,  and  the  company  of 
a  few  yoyng  men  of  liberal  views  and  sentiments, 
to  the  empty  display  and  unsubstantial  showi 
which  wins  the  smile  of  moneyed  plebians. 

His  general  deportment,  his  countenance  and 
manner,  discovered  a  mind  and  disposition,  that 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  unremitting  in- 
dulgence. He  was  ardent  in  friendship;  pos- 
sessing a  heart*of  the  keenest  sensibility,  with  a 
scrupulous  regard  for  the  feelings  of  others.  He 
had  been  much  in  female  society — in  company 
with  the  amiable,  and  intelligent.  Still  he  had 
never  seen  any  one  that  he  thought  was  possess- 
ed of  congenial  feelings,  or  whose  mind  would 
assimilate  with  his  own. 

When  he  became  acquainted  with  Alida,  his 
sensations  were  awakenerfto  a  new  influence; — 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  banish  from  his  mind. 
He  never  before  had  seen  any  one  he  thought 
so  worthy  of  esteem,  or  so  calculated  to  inspire 
him  with  lasting  friendship.     <'  The  kin^nesSi 


A  L  I  D  A. 


107 


and  sincerity  of  her  heart,  speaks  in  her  artless 
manner/'  said  he,  (as  he  was  one  evening  return- 
ing home  from  her  father's.)    <<  She  delights  the 
old,  and  captivates  the  young.    Yet  her  beauty 
is  not  so  dazzling  at  first  glance,  but  every  day 
that  she  is  seen,  the  more  her  features  chann, 
the  more  her  manners  please.  Innocence  dwells 
in  the  silvery  curls  of  her  light  aubui^n  hair,  that 
waves  over  her  shouldersin  simple  elegance.  She 
has  been  reared  with  proper  care  and  attention, 
and  educated  not  to  shine  in  a  ball-room,  but 
with  a    soft   soothing  friendship,  to  dissipate 
ennui  and  gloom,  and  make  the  happiness  of 
the  domestic  circle." 


t):  n 


108 


A  L  I  DA. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Come,  contemplation,  with  thy  boandlef  ■  gaze. 
Inspire  my  song,  whiie  I  hie  merits  praise, 
A  true  description  of  his  greatness  name, 
And  fame's  bright  annals,  shall  record  the  same. 

Many  were  at  this  time  risking  their  lives  in 
defence  of  American  liberty,  and  privileges ; — 
nor  were  there  at  present  any  prospects  of  conci- 
liatory measures  between  the  contending  powers. 
It  became  necessary  for  the  people  in  the  mean  ^ 
time,  to  call  forth  all  their  energies  and  patrio- 
tism, with  the  utmost  exertion  on  their  parts — 
in  support  of  their  country,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  burden  of  the  arduous  conflict  in  which  it 
was  engaged,  and  sustain  the  present  contest 
with  honour  to  themselves,  and  with  the  hope 
that  its  final  settlement  might  be  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  America,  and  the  future  prosperity  of  the 
nation. 

Many  heroes  ventured  forth  to  the  field  of 
battle,  with  the  ardent  endeavour,  siill  to  preserve 
their  independence ;  while  at  the  same  time  the 
hearts  of  many  were  failing  them  with  fear.  It 
was  a  time  for  the  patriot  to  use  his  influence  to 
animate  others  anew  to  bravery,  and  persuade 
them  to  be  zealous,  in  a  just  cause ;  at  this  season 
of  general  excitement,  in  which  the  feelings  of 


A  L  I  D  A. 


109 


the  whole  community  had  become  strongly 
interested.  Party  spirit  and  the  conflicting  inter- 
ests of  the  different  states  were  found  to  operate 
injuriously  on  many  in  their  commercial  trans- 
actions. The  people  were  impoverished  by  the 
expenses  of  the  war.  Some  were  in  debt.  Cre- 
ditors resorted  to  legal  measures  to  enforce  a  col- 
lection of  their  demands,  which  involved  many 
families  in  deep  embarrassment.  Peace  was 
sighed  for  by  the  multitude,  but  there  were  yet 
no  signs  of  its  realization.  An  engagement  had 
just  taken  place  on  Lake  Erie.  The  Americaa 
fleet  was  commanded  by  Commodore  Perry,  a 
young  officer ;  that  of  the  British  under  Com. 
Barclay,  an  old  and  experienced  officer,  who  had 
served  under  Nelson.  After  a  contest  of  three 
hours  the  Americans  gained  a  complete  victory, 
and  captured  every  vessel  of  the  enemy.  Com- 
modore Perry  announced  this  victory  in  the  fol- 
lowing laconic  style  :  "  We  have  met  the  enemy 
and  they  are  ours."  The  Americans  took  six 
hundred  prisoners,  which  exceeded  their  whole 
number  engaged  in  the  action.  This  battle  was 
succeeded,  several  weeks  afterwards,  by  an- 
other that  was  alike  fortunate,  between  the 
Americans;  army  under  General  Harrison,  and 
the  British  under  Gen.  Proctor,  in  which  they 
were  defeated,  and  Detroit  fell  into  the  hands  of 

10 


i 


no 


A  L  I  D  A 


the  Americans.  The  success  of  this  action  may 
be  entirely  attributed,  (under  the  favour  of  heav- 
en,) to  the  abilities  and  military  skill  of  General 
Harrison. 

After  General  Hull  had  tamely  surrendered  to 
the  British  this  important  post,  with  the  gallant 

force  that  composed  the  garrison,  an  event  which 
spread  consternation  far  and  wide  throughout 
the  western  country,  and  greatly  increased  the 
diiRculty  and  arduous  nature  of  Gen.  Harrison's* 
duties,  he  immediately  organized  tJie  brave 
troops  under  his  command,  and  commenced  a 
course  of  rigid  discipline,  and  military  training^:, 
with  the  confident  hope  of  retrieving  |the  conse- 
quent disasters  of  this  proceeding. 

The  American  army  advanced  in  order  of 
battle,  and  were  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood of  the  enemy ;  the  reconnoitering  parties 
brought  in  intelligence  of  the  dispositions  Proc- 
tor had  made,  vv herein  he  had  committed  an 
irretrievable  error  in  ranging  his  regular  soldiers 
in  order,  aiid  extending  his  line  by  placing  the 
files  aJ  a  distance  of  three  or  four  feet  from  each 
other.  Hd,rrison,  with  the  rapid  decision  of  an 
able  general,  instantly  availed  himself  of  the 
error  of  his  opponent.  The  extended  and  weak- 
ened line  of  the  enemy,  could  offer  but  a  feeble 
resistance  to  the  charge  of  his  gallant  troops. 


5S 


/■ 


A  L  I  D  A 


111 


who  dashed  forward  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
the  people  of  the  territory, — and  with  the  pnhUc 
expression  of  the  most  flattering  approbation, 
on  the  part  of  the  chief  executive  ; — tiil  at  length 
they  gained  a  complete  victory. 

The  various  and  arduous  duties  of  the  gover- 
nor of  Indiana,  required,  for  this  office,  a  man  of 
very  superior  abilities — one  possessed  of  stern  in- 
tegrity, and  prudent  moderation,  accompanied 
by  the  most  unwavering  firmness.  Such  a  man 
Governor  Harrison,  in  the  long  course  of  his  ad- 
ministration fully  proved  himself  to  be.    And  in 
acting  his  part  as  a  general  he  merits  no  less 
the  applauses  of  his  countrymen,  in  training  and 
leading  their  armies  to  victory.     Tl)€  nervous 
and  impassioned  eloquence,  and  classical  felicity 
of  illustration,  with  which  he  enforced  his  argu- 
ments, gained  him  much  applause  and  influence, 
— and  discovered  his  abilities  to  be  of  the  highest 
order,  blended  with  the  truest  republican  prin- 
ciples;— in  which  were  manifested  an  ardent 
zeal  for  the  good  of  his  countr}',  and  an  earnest 
desire  to  serve  her  best  interests.  Though  vested 
with  unusual  powers,  both  as  governor  and  gene- 
ral, he  was  never  known,  during  the  whole  of 
his'command,  to  exercise  his  authority  in  an  un- 
just or  oppressive  manner.     His  measures  were 
energetic  but  always  qualified  by  liis  character- 


112 


A  L  I  D  A 


istic  moderation  and  humanity,  joineu  with 
integrity,  prudence  and  capacity  for  civil  govern- 
ment. 

Detroit  is  destined  to  be  remembered,  as  the 
place  of  the  battle  ground  of  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable and  decisive  actions  that  took  place 
during  the  late  war. 

After  this  action  was  over,  Bonville,  who  was 
one  among  ths  soldiers,  returned  to  New- York. 
He  furnished  plausible  reason,  and  obtained  a^ 
furlough  from  his  commanding  officer,  for  leave 
of  absence.  In  the  mean  time,  he  thought  again 
to  visit  Alida  ;  he  had  at  present  a  double  mo- 
tive again  to  address  her, — and  if  he  should 
prove  successful,  her  expected  fortune  would 
make  him  ample  amends  for  what  he  had 
squandered  away  in  scenes  of  folly.  And  if  the 
father  of  Theodore,  had  become  a  bankrupt  by 
misfortune,  he  had  now  almost  become  one  by 
dissipation  and  extravagance. 

Albert  had  been  extremely  busy  through  the 
day,  and  was  just  returning  home  from  his  store 
in  Pearl-street  one  evening,  when  he  met  Bon- 
ville in  Broadway  on  his  way  to  his  father's. 
He  accosted  him  in  a  very  friendly  man:ier,  and 
then  interrogated  him  by  numerous  questions 
concerning  the  family, — and  very  inquisitively 
with  regard  to  his  sister.     Albert  made  no  reply 


A  L  I  D  A 


113 


that  p^ave  him  any  particular  satisfaction.  When 
they  arrived  at  the  house,  they  found  no  com- 
pany except  Mr.  More.  Alida  was  truly  shocked 
and  surprised  at  this  unexpected  visit  from  Bon- 
ville,  who  she  had  no  idea  was  in  town.     After 
making  to  her  his  comphments,  and  expressing 
his  pleasure  at  finding  her  well,  he  by  degrees 
drew  her  into  a  conversation  which  lasted  the 
greater  part  of  the  evening.     He  offered  an  ill- 
timed  cor  olation  for  the  absence  of  Theodore, 
and  affected  much  regret, — although  he  said  his 
case  v/as  not  as  deplorable  as  that  of  many 
others,  as  he  was  still  among  the  living.     That 
though  he  was  a  person  he  could  not  esteem, 
still  he  had  felt  so  far  interested  in  his  welfare, 
as  to  make  particular  inquiries  how  the  British 
were  accustomed  to  treat  their  prisoners.     He 
then  gave  some  dark  intimations  against  his 
general  character,  which  could  not  fail  to  throw 
over  the  mind  of  Alida  a  deep  dejection.      ' 

She  was  now  apprised  of  the  fate  of  Theo- 
dore : — She  was  unable  to  suppress  the  feelings 
of  sorrow,  that  these  words  of  Bonville  had  ex- 
cited. She  remained  silent ;  wholly  engrossed 
by  the  confused  thoughts  and  sad  ideas,  that 
aros*^  in  succession  in  her  mind,  till  at  length  she 
became  regardless  of  all  around  her. 

The  penetrating  eyes  of  Mr.  More  were  fixed 

.       10* 


I 


114 


A  L  I  D  A. 


upon  Alida,  during  this  conversation.  He  seem- 
ed wholly  insensible  to  every  other  object.  He 
was  apprehensive  that  her  heart  was  insensible 
to  the  strong  affection  tl^at  pervaded  his  own, — 
and  he  thought,  should  she  prove  incapable  of 
loving  like  himself,  and  should  become  devoted 
to  another,  thoughts,  he  could  scarcely  en- 
dure,— though  they  sometimes  impressed  the 
idea  that  she  might  never  be  interested  in  his 
favour.  Hope  would  again  flatter  him  with  the  , 
pleasing  thought,  that  her  bosom  may  have  been 
fraught  with  congenial  feelings,  and  her  heart 
beat  with  sensations  even  more  fervent  than  his 
own.  Her  image  filled  his  waking  thoughts, 
and  disturbed  with  visionary  happiness  his  sleep- 
ing hours,— yet  it  seemed  to  his  devoted  mind, 

the  love  of  merit  alone  ;  and  he  imagined  that 
while  she  was  happy,  he  could  never  be  alto- 
gether otherwise. 

After  Mr.  More  and  Bonville  had  taken  leave, 
and  her  parents  had  retired  to  rest,  Alida  remain- 
ed by  the  fire-side  till  a  late  hour.  She  was 
meditating  on  recent  circumstances,  on  the  many 
late  trying  events,  which  had  crowded  so  rapidly, 
that  they  could  scarcely  be  said  to  succeed  each 
other,  and  which  had  given  so  great  variety  to 
her  life,  that  for  years  had  rolled  on  in  the  same 
peaceful  unvaried  course.     She  felt  displeased 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


115 


atBonville  for  his  insinuations  concerning  Theo- 
dore, which  were  ungenerous  and  ill-natured, — 
while  he  seemed  to  Hatter  himself  with  the  idea, 
that  she  would  become  forgetful  of  him.  He 
had  hitherto  yielded  to  every  selfish  propensity, 
without  once  seriously  reflecting  on  its  conse- 
quences, to  himself  or  others.  His  understand- 
ing, warped  by  prejudice,  and  without  control, 
often  misled  him,  and  the  superiority  an  ele- 
vated station  gave  him  caused  him  to  neglect 
to  practise  those  better  principles  of  which  his 
nature  might  have  been  capable.  His  pride 
would  suffer  to  see  Alida  united  to  another,  there- 
fore, he  was  determined  not  to  relinquish  her. 
He  concluded  that  finally  she  would  look  upon 
Theodore  with  indifference,  and  become  favour- 
ably disposed  towards  himself;  while  his  regard 
for  her  should  prove  unchangeable.  That,  un- 
acquainted as  she  was  with  the  world,  she  would 
at  length  be  brought  to  accede  to  his  wishes. 
That  his  rhetoric  operating  on  her  inexperience 
would  ultimately  influence  her  in  his  favour. 


116 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


:     .  CHAPTER  XVI.  \ 

J' 

**  Dejection  pales  thy  rosy  chcnk,  '.''''', 

■I'    ''  And  steals  the  histro  from  thine  eye  ;     , /^  ;;  " 

The  niinntts  of  eacli  tedious  Iiuur,  , 

Arc  marked  by  sad  anxiety  :  *  * 

'l  '.V 

*'  And  all  thy  soft,  endearing  smile?, 
That  spoke  with  such  expressive  grace, 
,       Alas!  are  fled,  and  only  care 

Is  seen  upon  that  lovely  face."     .'  ,, 

The  sublime  works  of  nature  had  shed  abroad 
their  ghteing  influences,  and  the  mild  and  salu- 
brious breezes  of  spring  had  succeeded  to  the 
blustering  gates  of  winter.  The  parents  of  Alida 
made  preparation  to  return  to  the  country.  Ali- 
da's  father  was  declining  in  health.  He  had 
imparted  to  his  son  his  wish  for  him  to  close  and 
settle  his  mercantile  affairs  in  the  city,  (as  the 
times  were  dreary,)  and  return  to  the  paternal 
estate.  In  the  mean  time,  Albert's  assistance 
was  necessary  to  alleviate  his  father,  as  ha  was 
now  advanced  in  years,  and  had  principally  re- 
linquished all  public  business,  except  attending 
to  its  calls  only  when  requested  in  cases  of  emer- 
gency. 

Mr.  Bolton  had  been  with  the  family  several 
days,  and  attended  them  on  board  the  steam- 
boat.    One  would  scarcely  suppose  that  so  in- 


1 


A  L  I  D  A. 


117 


teresting  an  exterior  as  bis,  blended  witb  bigbly 
polished  manners,  should  not  have  made  some 
impression  on  the  mind  of  Alida  if  her  heart  had 
been  disengaged.  Besides,  he  was  a  person  too 
amiable  not  to  be  esteemed.  His  ideas  with  re- 
gard to  Alida  were  altogether  sanguine.  He 
believed,  as  soon  as  he  should  ask  the  consent 
of  her  parents,  he  would  easily  obtain  his  wishes. 
He  considered  his  own  fortune  already  sufficient, 
without  seeking  more  in  the  din  of  business. 
And  he  possessed  many  other  advantages  which 
pleaded  in  his  favour.  With  these  hopes  of  as- 
sured success,  he  made  proposals  to  her  father. 
The  manner  in  which  her  father  replied  to  him 
was  altogether  discouraging,  which  excluded  the 
hope  of  his  ever  gaining  the  hand  of  his  daugh- 
ter by  his  consent.  This  denial  was  a  sensible 
cause  of  chagrin  to  Mr.  Bolton,  but  yet  it  did 
not  discourage  him.  ,;     = 

The  impatience  sometimes  of  obtaining  a 
thing  which  is  refused  to  us,  renders  it  still  more 
desirable,  and  the  heart  is  never  in  a  greater 
flutter  than  when  it  is  agitated  with  tlie  fear  of 
losing  the  object  it  most  wishes  to  gain.  More- 
over, he  believed  that  Alida  was  already  inter- 
ested in  his  favour,  and  he  determined  to  suggest 
to  her,  the  first  opportunity,  the  plan  to  elope  with 
him,  and  thus  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  her  fa- 


i 


/ 


/ 


/ 


/ 


i/ 


;/ 


I 


118 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


ther  to  impede  their  hapniness.  The  day  was 
calm  and  serene,  and  the  air  invigorating.  The 
steam-boat  floated  slowly  upon  tlie  waters  in 
monotonous  movement.  There  was  music  on 
board.     A  company  of  militia  were  going  to  the 

village  of ,  where  they  usually  paraded  the 

town  for  several  hours,  took  dinner  at  the  hotel, 
and  then  returned  again  to  the  city. 

Alida  remained  on  deck  nearly  the  whole 
wa}^  to  be  a  spectator  of  the  various  beautiful  \ 
landscapes  that  presented  themselves  on  the 
river,  particularly  at  this  season  of  the  year.  A 
gentle  breeze  sprung  up  as  they  passed  the  little 
islands  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay,  on  whose 
glassy  surface  the  sun  shone  with  meridian 
splendour,  illustrating  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the 
diversified  scenery.  In  the  course  of  a  few  hours 

they  arrived  at  the  village  of -,  where  they 

obtained  a  conveyance  to  take  them  on  to  their 
family  residence,  where  they  arrived  some  time 
in  the  afternoon.  ,   .         ;        > 

Although  all  nature  was  smiling  around,  and 
the  variegated  landscape  never  appeared  more 
enchanting,  birds  of  every  description  were  seen 
chirping  on  the  spray,  and  the  trees  resounded 
with  icir  sportive  melody,  and  Alida  might  still 
have  k-t  ^n  happy  if  she  had  never  become  ac- 
quainted with  Theodore  ;  yet  while  she  had  the 


A  L  I   D  A. 


119 


appearance  of  serenity,  she  still  cherished  a  se- 
cret uneasiness.  She  had  never  received  any 
intelligence  concerning  him  since  they  had  last 
parted.  She  imagined  herself  altogether  for- 
gotten, as  Bonville  had  frequently  suggested. 
Besides,  he  had  represented  Theodore  as  worth- 
less. Harassed  and  oppressed  hy  a  thousand 
diflerent  conjeclures,  she  couiJ  scarcely  support 
herself  under  them  with  any  degree  of  resigna- 
tion. 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  in  serious  meditation, 
she ,  took  a  seat  by  the  window.  The  sun  was 
dechning  slowly  beneath  the  horizon  to  gladden 
other  regions.  The  spire  of  the  village  church 
was  tipped  with  gold,  and  the  resplendent  rays 
reflected  from  the  window  dazzled  the  eye. 
Above  w^as  the  azure  vault  variegated  with 
fleecy  clouds;  beneath  was  nature's  verdant  car- 
pet. The  little  songsters  of  the  adjoining  grove 
were  paying  their  tribute  of  praise  in  melodious 
strains.  The  bleating  of  the  lambs,  and  the 
lowing  of  the  milky  train  re-echoed  from  the 
fields  and  valleys ;  while  the  gentle  murmuring 
of  the  water-fall  at  the  mill,  with  its  rumbling 
cadence  over  the  dam,  was  heard  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. **  How  still  is  nature,"  said  Alida.  "  The 
sun  has  withdrawn  his  radiance,  yet  the  gleam 
from  yonder  westera  aky  bcs^peaks  him  still  at 


120 


A  L  I  D  A. 


V 


hand,  promising  to  return  with  his  reviving 
warmth  when  nature  is  refreshed  with  darkness. 
The  bay  is  aheady  beginning  to  be  silvered 
over  by  the  mild  rays  of  the  queen  of  night. 
Gently  she  steals  on  the  world,  while  she  be- 
stows on  us  her  borrowed  splendour.  She  lights 
the  wandering  traveller,  she  warms  the  earth 
with  gentle  heat.  She  dazzles  not  the  eye  of 
the  philosopher,  but  invites  him  to  contemplate 
and  admire.  Scarcely  a  breeze  is  stirring ;  thi 
shadow  of  each  tree  remains  undisturbed ;  the 
unruffled  bay  and  river  glide  smoothly  on,  re- 
flecting nature's  face.  Again  the  attention  is 
drawn,  and  the  eye  wanders  to  yon  vast  con- 
cave, where  the  mind  follows  in  silent  wonder, 
wandering  among  the  planets,  till,  struck  with 
beauty  of  the  whole,  it  acknowledges  *  the  Hand 
that  made  it  is  divine.' 

"  Surely,"  said  Alida,  "  all  nature  conspires  to 
calm  the  mind,  to  restore  tranquillity,  to  soften 
every  care  and  corroding  thought.  But  what 
can  ease  the  troubled  mind,  which,  hke  the 
angry  sea  after  agitation  by  blustering  winds, 
't  is  still  tumultuous  ?"  Where  now,  thought 
she,  is  Theodore?  What  sadness  and  difficulty 
may  not  his  noble  and  generous  spirit  have  had 
to  encounter !  His  tender  sensibility,  his  serene 
aad  pacific  disposition,  may  have  had  numerous 


A  L  I   DA. 


121 


trials ;  and  how  unhappy  he  may  be,  who  was 
ever  ardent  in  his  endeavours  to  communicate 
peace  and  happiness  to  others  !     When  she  re- 
flected upon  all  his  goodness,  his  zealous  piety, 
his  religious  sentiments  the  same  as  her  own, 
and  recalled  to  her  memory  happier  days,  when 
she  had  listened  with  pleasure  to  the  powerful 
eloquence  of  a  corresponding  spirit.     And  her 
esteem  for  him  rose  higher,  while  he  commented 
on  religious  truths,  and  bade  her  place  a  firm 
dependence  on  Divine  Providence.    Amid  these 
uneasy  sensations,  which  filled  the  bosom  of 
Alida  with  anxiety  and  grief,  and  left  her  mind 
in  a  state  of  despondency,  the  period  arrived  for 
the  celebration  of  her  father's  birth-day,  which 
brought  with  it,  as  usual,  much  company  from 
the  city,  from  the  neighbouring  village,  with  the 
parish  minister  and  his  family. 

After  her  several  sisters  had  arrived,  and 
nearly  all  the  company  had  collected,  Alida  en- 
tered the  drawing-room  with  spirits  somewhat 
re-animated.  Bonville  was  already  there.  He 
arose  and  handed  her  to  a  seat.  He  accompanied 
the  first  salutations  with  many  flattering  com- 
pliments, but  with  all  his  endeavours  to  win  her 
favour,  he  could  not  awaken  even  a  temporary 
regard  in  the  bosom  of  Alida.  In  the  mean 
time,  she  had  full  leisure  to  observe  his  singular 

11 


V 


122 


A  L  I  D  A. 


behaviour,  to  listen  to  his  iasinuating  address^t 
to  hear  him  mention  the  name  of  Theodore,  and 
when  he  observed  her  feelings  were  excited,  to 
hear  him  suddenly  change  the  subject.  He 
sometimes  appeared  to  regard  her  with  an  eye 
of  pity,  but  it  arose  from  a  consciousness  of  his 
own  errors,  bordering  on  baseness.  He  felt 
unhappy  at  his  own  want  of  integrity,  and 
his  heart  reproached  him  with  injustice  and 
treachery.  .  '  \ 


•>  1 


(/, . 


»  I 


»i 


)  • 


I'  •' . 


■f-'  -  ■>> 


>.  - 


A  *• 


A  L  I  D  A. 


123 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  polished  mien,  with  elegance  of  mind, 

A  winning  grace,  with  taste  and  sense  refined, 

A  kindly,  sympathizing  heart,  sincere. 

The  gloomy  scene,  the  pensive  thought  to  cheer. 

In  a  series  of  events,  a  period  at  length  ar- 
rived, which  manifested  to  mankind  in  a  more 
melancholy  degree  the  shocking  consequences 
and  devastation  of  war,  the  overwhelming  sor- 
row that  is  brought  on  families  for  the  loss  of 
friends,  with  the  discouraging  embarrassments 
attending  all  kinds  of  business. 

A  severe  engagement  had  recently  taken  place 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  Niagara  cataract.  Gene- 
ral Scott,  on  his  arrival  at  Niagara  Falls,  learned 
that  the  British  were  in  force  directly  in  his  front, 
separated  only  by  a  narrow  piece  of  wood.     Ho 
soon  pressed  through  the  wood,  and  engaged  the 
British  on  the  Queenston  road.     He  advanced 
upon  the  enemy,  and  the  action  commenced  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  continued  with 
little  intermission  until  twelve  at  night.     The 
thunder  of  the  cannon,  the  roaring  of  the  falls, 
the  incessant  discharge  of  artillery  during  the 
six  hours  in  which  the  parties  were  in  combat, 
heightened  by  the  circumstance   of  its   being 
night,  afforded  such  a  scene  as  is  rarely  to  be 


124 


A  I.  I  D  A  . 


met  with  in  tlie  history  of  (he  wars  of  nations. 
The  evening  was  cahn,  and  the  njoon  i}hone 
with  lustre  when  not  enveloped  in  clouds  of 
smoke  from  the  firing  of  the  contending  armies 
Taking  into  consideration  the  numbers  engaged, 
few  contests  have  ever  been  more  sanguinary. 
The  battle  was  one  of  the  most  severe  that  had 
been  fought  during  the  war.  The  British  troops 
engaged  in  this  action  amounted  to  5000  men  j 
many  of  them  were  selected  from  the  flower 
of  Lord  Wellington's  army.  Colonel  Miller's 
achievement,  in  storming  the  battery,  was  of  the 
most  brilliant  and  hazardous  nature,  and  entitled 
him  to  the  highest  applause  among  the  Ameri- 
cans. . 

The  measures  of  the  president  relative  to  the 
war  were  of  such  a  nature  as  greatly  to  draw 
upon  him  the  approbation  and  gratitude  of  the 
nation.  He  early  began  to  turn  his  mind  to  a 
contemplation  of  the  general  politics  of  his  coun- 
try. He  therefore  became  advanced  in  the  re- 
quisite qualifications  to  assume  and  maintain  l!ie 
important  station  he  held  over  it.  He  had  im- 
bibed an  attachment  for  civil  liberty  nlmost  from 
his  infancy,  which  infljienced  his  every  action. 
He  was  of  a  pacific  temperament,  and  pursued 
those  measures  as  long  as  they  would  answer. 
But  when  it  became  actually  necessary  for  hira 


A  L  I  D  A. 


125 


to  recommend  to  congress  to  pursue  a  different 
course,  it  was  then  that  the  benefactor  of  his 
country  endeavoured  to  concert  measures  still  to 
preserve  America  as  an  asylum  for  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty.     He  possessed  qualities  well  cal- 
culated to  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  high  station 
with  honour  to  himself  and  justice  to  the  com- 
munity.    He  was  dignified  in  his  deportment, 
kind,  generous,  and  condescending ;  a  patron  to 
science;  a  uniform  promoter  of  honourable  en- 
terprise; but  an  enemy  to  every  thing  dishonest, 
hypocritical,  and  disingenuous.    And  as  a  Chris- 
tian, he  firmly  adhered  to  the  gospel,  and  regu- 
lated his  life  by  its  precepts  and  injunctions,  in  a 
consistent  and  exemplary  manner.     This  illus- 
trious president  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  blessed 
with  a  consort  whose  qualifications  in  her  par- 
ticular capacity  were  no  less  adequate  to  fill  with 
dignity  her  elevated  station.      The  parents  of 
Mrs.  Madison  were  natives  of  Virginia.     Their 
daughter  was  educated  in  Philadelphia  among 
the  Friends.     She  was  therefore  little  indebted 
to  acquired  graces  and  accomplishments  for  the 
admiration  and  regard  which  followed  her  where- 
ever  she  was  known.    To  much  personal  beauty 
she  added  a  warm  heart  and  a  benevolent  dispo- 
sition, charms  and  attractions  which  won  for  her 
not  only  admirers  but  friends,  and  exalted  her  to 

11* 


1* 


126 


A  L  I  D  A. 


i: 


high  eminence  in  the  public  estimation.    Her 
natural  and  acquired  endowments  she  carried 
into  society  with  such  pleasing  manners  and 
graceful  demeanour  as  produced  almost  univer- 
sally an  impression  hi:^hly  favourable  to  herself 
among  the  citizens  of  Washington,    Her  society 
was  much  esteemed  in  all  the  companies  she 
frequented.     Her  mental  powers  were  of  a  supe- 
rior grade,  and  the  effects  of  genuine  piety  and 
Christian  benevolence  distinguished  all  her  ac-\ 
lions.     To  these  she  added  an  amiability  of 
temper,  the  polished  address  of  a  lady,  with  a 
conversation  both  plensing  and  instructive.    Her 
deportment  to  all  was  prepossessing,  by  the  affec- 
tionate manner  in  which  shu  addressed  them  se- 
parately, and  the  interest  she  manifested  in  their 
welfare.     In  these  she  showed  no  difference  be- 
tween the  rich  and  the  poor,  and  devoted  much 
of  her  time  to  the  cause  of  charity.     She  was 
eminently  distinguished  for  her  amiable  nuahties, 
and  a  pecuhar  versatility  of  talent  in  her  conver- 
sation and  manners.     She  entertained  the  ru- 
merous  friends  and  guesfc  of  the  president  with 
cordial  hospitality.     She  treated  her  husband's 
relatives  with  regard  and  kindness  ;  and  in  the 
president's  house,  whenever  there  were  female 
guests,  Mrs.  Madison  always  presided,     v 
After  the  president's,  the  house  of  the  secre- 


A  L  I  D  A 


127 


tary  of  slate  was  the  resort  of  most  company. 
The  frank  and  cordial  manners  of  Us  mistress 
gave  a  peculiar  chanri  to  the  frequent  parties 
there  assembled.  All  foreigners  who  visited  the 
seat  of  government,  strangers  from  the  diffek-eat 
states  of  the  union,  the  heads  of  departments, 
the  diplomatic  corps,  senators,  representatives, 
and  citizens,  mingled  with  an  ease  and  freedom, 
a  sociability  and  gaiety  to  be  met  with  in  no 
other  society.  Even  party  spirit,  virulent  and 
embittered  as  it  then  was,  by  her  gentleness  was 
disarmed  of  its  asperity. 

Individuals  who  never  visited  the  president's 
dwelling,  m)r  met  at  the  other  ministerial  houses, 
could  not  resist  the  softening  influences  of  her 
-conciliatory  disposition,  with  her  frank  and  gen- 
erous manners.  She  was  constantly  receiving 
and  re'^iprocating  civilities  in  the  most  kind  and 
friendly  manner  witli  the  i'^habitants  of  Wash- 
ington. The  president,  being  wholly  absorbed 
in  public  business,  left  to  Mrs.  Madison  the  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  social  intercourse.  And 
never  was  woman  better  calculated  for  the  task. 
Exposed  as  she  necessarily  was,  in  so  conspicu- 
ous a  situation,  to  envy,  jealousy,  and  miscon- 
struction, she  so  nianaged  as  to  conciliate  the 
good-will  of  all,  without  ofiending  tlie  self-love 
of  any  of  the  numerous  competitors  for  her  fa- 


t1 

1.) 


I'l^ 


128 


A  L  I  D  A 


vour  and  attention.     Every  visiter  left  her  with 
the  pleasing  impression  of  being  an  especial  fa- 
vourite, of  having  been  the  object  of  peculiar 
attention.    8he  never  forgot  a  name  she  had 
orice  heard,  nor  a  face  she  had  once  seen,  nor 
the  personal  circumstances  connected  with  every 
individual  of  her  acquaintance.     Her  quick  re- 
cognition of  p«irsons,  her  recurrence  to  their  pe- 
cuHar  interests  produced  the  gratifying  impres- 
sion in  each  and  all  of  those  who  conversed  with 
her  that  they  were  especial  objects  of  regard. 
The  house  was  very  plainly  furnished,  and  her 
dress  in  no  way  extravagant ;  and  it  was  only 
in  hospitality  and  charity  that  her  profusion  was 
unlimited.     The  amiable  and  engaging  quali- 
ties which  have  been  here  described,  character- 
ized Mrs.  Madison  in  her  husband's  public  life. 
In  the  midst  of  the  bitterness  of  party  spirit,  and 
the  violence  of  political  animosity,  she  was  mild 
and  courteous  to  all.    The  political  assailants  of 
her  husband  she  treated  with  a  kindness  whi  h 
disarmed  tlieir  hostility  of  its  individual  rancour, 
and  sometimes  even  converted  poUtical  enemies 
into  personal  friends,  and  still  oftener  succeeded 
in  neutralizing  the  bitterness  of  opposition. 

At  this  period  her  courage  and  firmness  were 
put  to  a  severe  test.  In  August,  1814,  the  Bri- 
tish troops  landed  forty  miles  below  Washington, 


\ 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


129 


and  approached  that  city.  The  president  left 
the  city  to  hohl  a  council  of  war.  Before  his  de- 
parture he  anxiously  in(|uired  if  slie  had  courage 
or  Th  rnness  to  remain  in  then*  house  until  his  re- 
turn on  the  morrow,  or  succeeding  day.  She 
assured  him  she  had  no  fear  hut  for  liim  and  the 
success  of  the  army.  Wiien  the  prcsiuent  reach- 
ed Bladenshurgh  he  unexpectedly  found  the  two 
armies  engaged.  Meanwhile  terror  spread  over 
the  city  all  wdio  could  ohtain  conveyances  fled 
to  the  aujoming  towns.  The  sound  of  the  can- 
non was  distinctly  heard,  and  universal  confu- 
sion and  dismay  prevailed.  Some  personal 
friends  who  remained  v.  iih  Mrs.  Madison,  strong- 
ly urged  her  to  leave  the  city.  They  had  her 
carriage  brought  to  the  'bor,  but  could  not  per- 
suade her  to  enter  it  till  her  husband  should  re- 
turn, and  accompany  her.  And  she  did  not 
finally  depart  i;!!  several  messengers  had  been 
dispatched  to  i  L^x  lly.  Much  as  she  graced 
her  public  statioi^,  ^=fte  was  not  less  admirable  in 
domestic  life.  Neighbourly  and  coinpaniable 
among  her  country  friends,  as  if  ::he  had  never 
lived  in  a  city;  delighting  in  the  society  of  the 
young,  and  never  belter  pleased  than  when  pro- 
moting evet  v  youthful  pleasure  by  l>er  partici- 
pation ; — sh  till  proved  herself  the  alTectionate 
•-consort,  without  neglecting  the  duties  of  a  kind 


h  > 


I' 


t 


130 


A  L  I  D  A. 


hostess,  and  a  faithful  friend  and  relation.  She 
smoothed  and  enlivened,  occupied  and  appeased, 
each  varying  scene  of  life.  Her  husband  knew, 
appreciated,  and  acknowledged  the  blessing 
which  heaven  had  bestowed  on  him,  in  giving 
him  such  a  companion. 


•      '.         *;, 


). 


-,  '     .     \ 


A  L  I  D  A. 


131 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


And  many  an  aching  heart  at  rising  morn, 
A  sad  memento  of  tho  day  that 's  past, 

From  lon:»  protracted  slumbers,  slowly  drawn; 
From  wearied  spirits — with  a  gloom  o'ercast. 

All  business  of  importance,  at  this  time,  was 
in  a  manner  suspended  in  New- York ;  the  face 
of  things  wore  a  dismal  aspect,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  community  were  in  dismay ;  occa- 
sioned by  the  continuance  of  hostilities  with 
Great  Britain.  All  appeared  in  a  declining  state, 
discouraging  to  the  industry  and  best  prospects 
of  the  inhabitants  ; — and  although  there  had 
been  some  rumours  of  peace,  it  was  not  yet  con- 
cluded. ' 

A  severe  battle  had  lately  taken  place  at  New- 
Orleans,  in  which  the  Americans  were  victori- 
ous. Another  was  fought  some  httle  time  after- 
wards on  Lake  Champlain.  The  British  fleet 
with  1050  men  approached  Plattsburgh,  while 
the  American  fleet  were  lying  off  that  place. 
The  British  fleet  bore  down  upon  them  in  order 
of  battle,  commanded  by  Sir  George  Pre\ost, 
Governor  General  of  Canada.  Commodore 
Macdonough,  the  American  commander,  oi"der- 
cd  his  vessels  to  be  cleared  for  action,  and  gal- 


u 

'i 


132 


A  L  I  P  A 


I' 


lantly  received  the  enemy.  The  engagement 
was  exceedingly  obstinate.  After  a  contest  of 
two  hours,  the  British  ships  and  several  sloops 
of  war  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans.  Be- 
fore sunset  the  temporary  batteries  of  the  enemy 
v.^ere  all  silenced,  and  every  attempt  to  cross  from 
Plattsburgh  to  the  American  works,  was  re- 
pelled. At  nine  o'clock  the  object  was  abandon- 
ed, and  the  British  general  hastily  drew  off  his 
forces.  Large  (juantitiesof  military  stores  were  left^ 
behind,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans. 
The  people  of  the  United  States  were  at  this 
time  divided  into  two  political  parties  ;  one  par- 
ty condemneu  the  war  as  unwise  and  unne- 
cessary ;  the  other  contending  that  the  war  was 
just,  and  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  na- 
tional honour.  The  opposition  to  the  w^ar  was 
the  greatest  in  the  New  England  states,  and 
du^ig  its  continuance  this  opposition  was  con- 
firmed. Enlistments  of  troops  were  in  some  in- 
stances discouraged,  and  dissentions  arose  be- 
tween the  general  and  state  governments,  re- 
specting the  command  of  the  militia,  called  out 
by  order  of  the  former,  to  defend  the  sea-board. 
Accordingly  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts  ap- 
pointed delegates  to  meet  and  confer  with  the  de- 
legates from  the  states  of  New  England,  or  any 
of  them,  upon  the  subject  of  their  public  grievan- 


s 

si 


A  L  I  P  A. 


133 


rd. 


ces  and  concerns.  The  delegates  met  at  Hart- 
ford, Connecticut,  in  1815,  and  sat  nearly  three 
weeks  with  closed  doors.  This  convention  con- 
sisted of  delegates  from  the  state  of  Massachu- 
setts, Connecticut  and  Rhode  Island ;  two  mem- 
bers from  New  Hampshire,  and  one  from  Ver- 
mont. After  their  adjournment,  the  convention 
published  an  address,  charging  the  nation  with 
pursuing  measures  hostile  to  the  interest  of  New 
England,  and  recommended  amendments  to  the 
Federal  Constitution.  The  report  of  the  Hart- 
ford Convention  concluded  with  the  resolution 
providing  for  the  calling  of  another  convention^ 
should  the  United  States  refuse  their  consent  to 
some  arrangements,  —  whereby  the  New  Eng- 
land States,  separately,  or  in  concert,  might  be 
empowered  to  assume  upon  themselves  the  de- 
fence of  their  territory  against  the  enemy.  The 
committee  appointed  to  communicate  these  reso- 
lutions to  Congress,  met  at  Washington  the 
news  of  peace  :  and  owing  to  this  event,  another 
Convention  was  not  called.  And  may  it  never 
be  the  fate  of  America,  to  be  again  involved  in 
hostilities  with  her  mother  country,  from  whence 
is  derived  her  revered  religion ;— each  nation 
possessing  towards  the  other  reciprocal  fellow- 
feelings,  becoming  Christian  brethren. 

12  .      . 


-^  'f 


134 


A  L  I  D  ▲. 


How  shall  we  to  his  memory  raise 
A  theme  that 's  worthy  to  record  ; 

The  tribute  of  a  nation's  praise 
In  nrrateful  accents  send  abroad. 

Let  eloquence  his  deeds  proclaim, 

From  sea-beat  strand  to  mountain  goal ; 

Let  hist'ry  write  his  peaceful  name, 
High  on  her  truth-iUumin'd  scroll. 

Let  poetry  and  art  through  earth 
The  page  inspire,  the  canvass  warm, 

In  glowing  words  record  his  worth, 
In  living  marble  mould  his  form.     ^  „ 

A  fame  so  bright  will  never  fade, 
A  name  so  dear  will  deathless  be ; 

For  on  our  country's  shrine  he  laid 
The  charter  of  her  liberty.       '  *  - 

Praise  be  to  God :  his  love  bestowed 
The  chief,  the  patriot,  and  the  sage ; 

Praise  God !  to  him  our  fathertowed 
This  fair  and  goodly  heritage. 


The  sacred  gift  time  shall  not  mar. 
But  wisdom  guard  what  valor  won, 

While  beams  serene  her  guiding  star. 
And  glory  points  to  Madison. 


4ny 


;'X  .''(1  ■■''  i,.j;" 


i     '!-■> 


*  t  ■ 


A  L  I  D  A 


135 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


O  glorious  prosptct,  see  the  smile  benign, 

Of  heav*n-born  peace,  refulgent  spread  its  rays ; 

To  peace  and  concord,  may  the  world  incline, 
And  these  our  later,  be  our  happier  days. 

Some  length  of  time  had  elapsed  since  the 
parents  of  Aiida  had  taken  up  their  residence  in 
the  city  for  the  winter,  when  the  news  of  peace 
reached  New- York.  The  cries  of  peace  resound- 
ed throughout  the  city  at  these  joyful  tidings, — 
and  the  evening  of  this  day  was  celebrated  by  a 
splendid  illumination.  Transparencies,  emblema- 
tical of  the  hberties  of  the  country,  were  exhibited 
at  all  the  public  edifices.  The  fine  and  melodious 
music  in  the  Park,  drew  the  people  together  in 
crowds  within  the  inclosure,  till  scarcely  another 
could  enter, — and  although  the  snow  had  fallen 
profusely,  and  the  walking  was  extremely  bad, 
yet  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  inhabitants  generally 
were  out,  parading  on  foot,  to  witness  the  gene- 
ral rejoicing. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  visible  change  for  the 
better  took  place  almost  immediately,  and  these 
happy  effects  shed  their  benign  influence  through- 
out all  ranks  of  society,  and  among  ail  classes  of 


136 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


the  people.  Those  who  had  been  in  despair  on 
account  of  the  times,  had  now  the  charming 
prospect  before  them  of  returning  happiness  and 
prosperity,  when  the  active  scenes  of  life  would 
again  impel  the  multitude  to  the  exercise  of 
laudable  industry,  whereby  they  might  ultimate- 
ly realize  the  success  and  proceeds  attending  on 
an  honest  perseverance  in  business. 

The  country  that  had  been  unwillingly  drawn 
into  combat  had  been  victorious,  and  its  inhabi- 
tants  left  in  peaceable  possession  of  the  warrior's 
field.  An  honourable  peace  had  been  concluded, 
and  happy  tranquillity  was  o^ce  more  the  fate  of 
the  American  nation. 

The  miseries  and  unhappy  grievances  occa- 
6ion(3d  by  war,  were  again  at  an  end,  and  happily 
terminated.  The  cheering  consequences  of  peace 
again  communicated  their  happy  effects  among 
the  people,  awakening  to  their  imagination  new 
hopes  and  prospects,  filling  their  minds  with  ex- 
ultation, and  anticipations  the  most  sanguine. 

The  painful,  unpleasant  effects  of  discord, 
animosity,  and  contention,  were  now  changed 
to  the  exercise  of  those  better  qualities  and  dis- 
positions, more  pacific  and  praiseworthy.  The 
scenes  of  fury,  terror,  and  confusion,  were  suc- 
ceeded by  those  of  placid  serenity.  The  hours 
but  a  short  time  before  spent  in  moping  melan- 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


137 


choly  and  sadness,  in  individual  discourage- 
ment and  WO;  were  now  passed  in  listening  to 
musical  serenades,  in  scenes  of  mirth  and  festi- 
vity. The  people  whose  independence  had  been 
gloriously  won,  nearly  half  a  century  before,  by 
the  superior  prowess  of  a  renowned  hero,*  who 
as  a  general  marshalled  the  peasant  into  a  vete- 
ran, and  supplied  by  discipline  the  absence  of 
experience,  and  through  the  vicissitudes  of  her 
protracted  conflict  displayed  a  magnanimity  that 
defied  misfortune,  and  a  moderation  that  orna- 
mented victory. 

America,   already  revered  in  the  annals  of 

fame,  now  saw  her  rights  again  secured  to  her 
by  the  charter  of  her  liberties.  With  the  view 
before  her  of  witnessing  again  the  subsequent 
advantages  of  free  trade  and  commerce ;  while 
her  swelling  canvass  shall  be  spread  over  the 
seas  of  distant  nations,  and  her  star-spangled 
banner  shall  proclaim  to  them  her  liberty — 
glory  and  honour  shall  kindle  in  the  bosom  of 
the  patriot  at  the  name  of  her  Madison.  While 
the  wealth  of  her  commerce,  the  renown  of  her 
arms,  the  fame  of  her  philosophy,  the  eloquence 
of  her  senate,  and  the  inspiration  of  her  bards, 
shall  cause  her  to  emerge  from  her  horizon,  and 
shine  with  splendour  over  the  vast  expanse  of 


12* 


Washington. 


1 


'.  ■< 


138 


A  L  X  D  A. 


the  universe,  ckiming  from  remotest  regions  the 
respect  due  to  her  superiority.  Happy  America ! 
thy  freedom  is  once  more  ensured  to  thee,  and 
thy  hero  has  turned  upon  the  vanquished  only 
the  retribution  of  his  mercy. 


-.>     i 


.''4-.'     ■'  -^K 


::| 


.*■ 


■/  ;•■. 


1     •"    ..^l,< 
I- 


•3    '   ■■"  'I     '^'''^ 


A  L  1  O  A. 


139 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Charmed  by  returning  pleasure's  gentle  voice, 
Each  waken'd  sense  with  new<born  rapture  beatS) 
The  adverse  heart  the  welcome  stranger  greets, 

And  bids  each  trembling  n^e  agaiL  rejoice. 

The  patriotic  feelings  of  Alida's  father  par- 
took in  the  general  joy  and  satisfaction  of  the 
community,  and  he  soon  turned  his  attention 
to  celebrate  the  event  of  the  late  peace  with 
tokens  of  rejoicing.  Numerous  were  the  com- 
pany that  collected  at  his  house  or  the  day  set 
apart  for  ♦  ^  purpose.  The  dwelling  was  illu- 
minated, v.^u  the  guests  assembled  at  an  early 
hour  in  the  evening  on  this  joyful  occasion. 

Unaffected  pleasure  enlivened  the  scene,  and 
presided  throughout  the  assembly ;  light-hearted 
wit  broke  forth  in  a  thousand  brilliant  sallies, 
while  unfeigned  joy  heightened  the  flush  on  the 
cheek  of  youth,  and  smoothed  the  furrows  on  the 
brow  of  age.  Nor  did  the  sprightly  fair  ones, 
with  the  gay  young  gentlemen,  fail  to  exert 
themselves  to  enhance  the  present  felicity  of  the 
company.  The  gaiety  of  the  scene,  the  flow  of 
general  joy,  the  sight  oi'  so  many  happy  people, 
the  countenancecof  the  happy  parents  in  witness- 
ing the  irxDocent  mirth  of  their  children,  with 


\'- 


I 


140 


A  L  I  D  A. 


the  benevolent  looks  of  the  ncble  bcstower  of  the 
entertainnicntj  formed  altogether  a  scene  which 
failed  not  to  fill  the  heart  with  sensations  the 
most  pleasing  and  satisfactory. 

Mr.  Bolton  was  occupied  in  attending  the  la- 
dies generally,  while  a  genuine  wiflicisr .  occa- 
sicnally  mingling  with  his  discourse,  gave  one 
no  mean  opinion  of  his  understanding,  and  in- 
creased their  admiration  of  his  talents.  He  was 
well  calculated  to  please  ;  there  was  something 
remarkably  graceful  in  his  exterior,  and  he  ex-\ 
rited  himself  this  evening  particularly  to  assist 
Alida  to  entertain  the  numerous  visiters. 
,  Bonville  endeavoared  in  various  ways  to  at- 
tract attention.  He  was  extiemely  humorous 
and  gay,  aijd  the  whole  party  was  enhvened  by 
his  vivacity.  He  described  the  folly  of  some  of 
the  prevaihng  fashions  of  the  town  with  sarcas- 
tic pleasantry,  and  related  many  anecdotes  of  the 
gay  world  and  fashionable  life,  interesting  to 
those  who  had  lived  in  retirement.  Alida  could 
not  but  listen  with  some  degree  of  pleasure  to 
his  amusing  conversation,  and  the  pLasing  al- 
lusions he  frequently  made  gradually  drew  the 
attention  of  the  whole  company. 

Albert  selected  from  the  rest  an  interesting 
young  lady,  to  whom  he  directed  the  most  of  his 
attention,  while  she,  pleased  with  his  politeness, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


141 


[lis 
less, 


«xerted  all  her  conver«-alionaI  powers  to  enlertaia 
him.  His  futher  r/as  iDuch  pleased  to  see  his 
son  endeavour  to  make  himself  agreeable  in  la- 
dies' society ;  he  thought  it  augured  a  good  sign, 
and  would  be  conducive  to  meliorate  and  refine 
his  manners.  He  had  long  wished  him  to  close 
his  affairs  of  business  in  the  city,  and  settle  him- 
self on  the  paternal  estaie.  He  was  anxious 
that  he  should  seek  out  an  amiable  companioii, 
of  pious  principles  and  exemplary  manners,  of 
genuine  goodness  and  benevolence,  in  whose 
deportment  was  mingled  the  rays  of  mildness, 
amiability^  and  cheerfulnes:} ;  well  meaning  to- 
wards all,  Llended  with  an  unaffected  ease  and 
politeness,  joined  with  the  usual  accomplish- 
ments to  complete  the  character  of  a  lady. 

An  unusual  degree  of  innocent  amusement 
prevailed  throughout  the  circle  on  this  evening 
of  gen  jral  joy,  and  all  were  more  or  less  enlivened 
and  cheered  by  its  salutary  effects,  except  Mr. 
More,  who,  in  the  midst  of  music  and  mirth, 
remained  sad  and  melancholy  ;  despondent  re- 
flections at  times  deeply  disturbed  his  tranquil- 
lity. In  the  midst  of  these  scenes  of  festivity,  he 
was  serious  and  thoughtful ;  gloomy  ideas  would 
in  spite  of  himself  cloud  his  imagination,  when- 
ever his  thoughts  foreboded  tiie  fear  of  losing  the 
only  object  of  his  affection. 


i  I 
i 

i 
i 

k 
-I 


s 


■ 


142 


▲  L  A  D  A  . 


The  elderly  gentlemen  had  a  long  consolatory 
conversation  on  the  present  affairs  of  the  coun- 
try, and  their  happy  termination  ;  the  wisdom 
of  the  government  and  its  coinciding  regulations, 
concluding  that  the  late  peace,  founded  on  prin- 
ciples of  justice  and  honour,  promised  to  be  last- 
ing. 

These  festive  scenes  of  gladness  were  con- 
cluded by  a  variety  of  music,  both  vocal  and 
instrumental ;  the  powerful  influence  of  which 
all  must  acknowledge ;  which  is  alike  visible  ii 
all  places,  and  in  every  stage  of  society.  And 
while  it  flings  its  ripell  over  the  gay  abod6s  of 
pleasure,  it  produces  likewise  its  sweet  enchant- 
ment in  the  domestic  dwelling.  The  ladies  al- 
ternately played  the  piano,  while  the  gentlemen 
assisted  in  singing,  forming  altogether  a  concert 
of  melodious  harmony  that  wakened  the  mind 
to  the' softest  raptures,  and  threw  its  bewitching 
influences  over  the  imagination,  calming  all  for- 
mer corroding  sensations,  and  animating  anew 
all  the  soft  and  sympathetic  emotions. 

Music  !  wake  thy  heavenly  numbers,     **'    * 

Queen  of  every  moviniT  measure, 
When  at  thy  voice  all  sorrow  slumbers, 

Sweetest  source  of  purest  pleasure  ! 

Who  listens  to  thy  varying  strains, 
'     Will  find  their  bosoms  fteuily  sooth'd, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


143 


Lulled  to  repose  all  cares  and  pains, 
And  waked  to  sympathy  and  love, 

That  calms  with  soft  persuasive  air 
The  heart  to  harmony  and  peace. 

If  any  grief  yet  linger  there, 
fiut  touch  thy  chords  and  it  will  cease. 

Who  does  not  feel  their  bosoms  glow, 
When  the  full  choir  their  voices  raise, 

To  the  .Supreme  of  all  below, 
Pour  forth  their  song  of  ardent  praise  ? 

Each  heart  by  sacred  impulse  driven,  -     V 
To  high  exalt  his  glorious  name, 

Loud  hallelujahs  raise  to  heaven. 

And  with  one  voice  His  praise  proclaim. 

Then  music,  queen  of  every  art, 

O  still  thy  matchless  powers  employ  ; 

Since  none  like  thee  can  peace  impai ;, 
And  none  like  thee  awaken  joy. 


), 


■  <  ,«■  *■ 


r   \ 


;•.•'■  I 


V    ft :  V'' 


*rt '  -,■ 


»  11 


144 


A  h  I  D  M 


i 


Mi 


us 'A 

1 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

'T  is  true  indeed,  there  *s  danger  in  delay, 
Tiien  let  us  speed,  and  hasten  far  awny. 
For  what  of  fear,  or  what  of  doubts  molest. 
When  deep  affection  reigns  within  the  breast, 

Several  weeks  now  passed  away  without 
any  material  occurrence,  and  the  season  of  the 
year  came  round  when  the  winter's  snow  was 
passing  from  the  face  of  nature,  succeeded  b^n 
heavy  showers  of  rain,  and  the  days  had  become 
more  pleasant,  because  they  were  something 
longer.  The  air  was  more  salubrious,  and  in- 
vited the  citizens  to  inhale  its  healthful  draught 
without  their  dwellings,  where  they  had  be?*i 
several  months  in  a  manner  shut  up  from  the 
inclemencies  of  the  cold  season. 

;  One  morning  after  the  family  had  taken  break- 
fast, they  sat  talking  over  late  events  and  recent 
occurrences  that  had  varied  so  materially  within 
the  last  three  months.  In  this  conversation  they 
were  unmindful  of  the  hour,  until  Mr.  Bolton 
without  ceremony,  (as  was  his  custom,)  entered 
the  breakfast  parlour.  After  the  usual  saluta- 
tions to  her  parents,  and  conversing  some  time 
with  his  aunt,  he  addressed  Alida  with  his  native 
pleasantry,  relating  to  her  some  stories  of  the 


A  L  I  D  A. 


145 


satirical  order  as  the  current  news  of  the  city. 
He  afterwards  informed  her  of  the  conversation 
between  himself  and  her  father,  and  in  what 
manner  the  latter  had  replied.  Alida  remained 
silent,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  lioor,  as  if  re- 
volving in  her  mind  what  to  say.  In  the  mean 
time,  he  did  not  await  her  reply,  bi^t  entreated 
her  in  the  most  pathetic  language  to  consent  to 
elope  with  him,  and  at  all  events  to  unite  her 
destiny  with  his  ;  at  the  same  time  telling  her 
that  implicit  obedience  to  a  parent's  will,  in  an 
aflair  that  so  materially  concerned  her  happiness, 
could  not  be  expected,  and  that  her  father  was 
much  to  blame  in  attempting  to  control  her  liber- 
ty of  choice ;  saying,  moreover,  that  at*er  their 
views  should  be  accomplished,  that  he  had  no 
doubt  whatever  of  his  reconciliation.  He  had 
lately  received  intelligence  of  the  death  of  an 
uncle  in  Savannah,  who  had  bequeathed  to  him 
his  fortune.  He  was  preparing  for  his  departure 
thence.  He  would  not  therefore  give  up  his 
former  project,  and  thought  to  avail  himself  of 
this  opportunity,  (by  all  the  rhetoric  he  was 
master  of,)  to  urge  Alida  to  accept  him  and  ac- 
company him  on  his  journey.  He  even  pro- 
posed whither  they  should  escape  from  the  eye 
of  her  father  for  the  p'^rformance  of  the  marriage 
ceremony.      >  ^   /  :    v. 

13 


II  ? 


146 


A  L  I  D  A« 


V^i 


% 


Vim 


U 


Alida  was  truly  shocked  and  surprised  at  a 
proposition  so  unexpected  from  Mr.  Bolton,  after 
he  had  known  her  father's  decision.  She  had 
never  considered  him  in  any  other  light  than  as 
a  brother  ;  and  being  a  connexion  in  the  family, 
thry  had  always  been  on  terms  of  friendly  inter- 
course. She  therefore  would  have  avoided  this 
meeting  if  she  could  have  had  previously  an  idea 
of  the  result. 

After  he  had  made  to  her  these  several  propo- 
sitions, her  displeasure  hold  her  for  some  time 
silent^  while  it  affected  her  mind  sensibly.  Never- 
theless she  endeavoured  to  recover  herself  to  an- 
swer him  in  a  decided,  and  at  the  same  time  in 
a  manner  compatible  with  her  present  feelings. 
She  commenced  urging  him  to  endeavour  to  for- 
get her  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  friend. 
"Can  you  suppose,  Mr.  Bolton,"  said  she,  "  that 
I  would  set  a  parent's  will  at  defiance,  by  com- 
mitting so  unwary  an  action  as  to  dispose  of 
myself  in  a  clandestine  manner,  nor  could  you 
again  imagine  that  1  would  give  my  hand 
wher^  my  heart  has  no  particular  regard."  She 
scarcely  uttered  this,  and  could  say  no  more  ere 
he  conjured  her  not  to  shut  her  heart  against 
him  forever,  and  entreated  her  to  permit  him 
still  to  hope  that  after  a  while  her  compassion 
might  become  awakened  to  the  remembrance  of 


V,>    I 


A  L  I  D  A 


147 


a  sincere,  true,  and  constant  heart,  which  would 
cause  her  to  heave  the  sym[>athetic  sigh  for  one 
who  could  never  eradicate  her  from  his  memory, 
even  Tor  a  moment,  or  chase  from  his  bosom  the 
esteem  and  love  that  time  could  neither  weaken 
nor  extinguish.  He  was  extremely  sorrowful  in 
taking  leave  of  Alida  and  the  family,  and  set  out 
the  ensuing  day  on  his  journey. 

Alida  felt  unhappy  at  the  earnest  importuni- 
ties of  a  person  she  could  not  but  have  some  es- 
teem for.  She  could  not  fail  to  admire  the  supe- 
rior powers  of  his  mind.  In  his  conversation  he 
was  all  that  was  agreeable,  entertaining,  and 
improving,  which  abounded  with  sallies  of  wit 
and  humour,  joined  to  a  fund  of  erudition  ac- 
quired by  a  collegiate  education.  He  was  par- 
ticular to  associate  only  with  young  men  of 
merit,  talents,  and  genius.  He  possessed  a  na- 
tive vein  of  satire,  which  he  sometimes  indulged 
with  much  effect ;  though,  however,  he  had  this 
dangerous  weapon  under  such  thorough  disci- 
pline, that  he  rarely  made  use  of  it  in  a  way 
which  gave  offence  to  any.  He  never  accumu- 
lated any  wealth  by  his  own  exertion,  as  he 
thought  what  he  already  inherited  was  more 
than  sufficient  for  all  his  wants.  He  seemed  not 
to  seek  for  an  abundance,  like  many  others,  as 
necessary  to  his  happiness,  thinking  that  with 


148 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


!^l 


contentment  the  peasant  is  greater  than  the 
prince  destitute  of  this  benign  blessing,  and  that 
a  competency,  rather  than  a  superfluity,  could 
convey  real  happiness  to  man.  He  thought 
that  to  the  improper  pursuit  after  happiness 
could  be  attributed  niLch  of  the  misery  of  man- 
kind ;  daily  he  saw  dread  examples  of  this  seri- 
ous truth,  that  many  in  grasping  at  the  shadow 
had  lost  the  substance.  A  near  relative  had  now 
been  bountiful  to  leave  him  a  fortune.  That, 
however,  he  was  thankful  for,  as  it  increased  hia 
fund  for  charitable  purposes.  His  intention  was 
to  get  possession  of  this  and  return  to  the  city  of 
New- York,  to  make  it  his  permanent  residence. 


4 'A 


'->' 


A  L  I  D  A. 


i4d 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Behold  the  beauteous  scene,  to  fill  the  mind  ^with  wonder  and 
delight ; — the  varied  land  and  water  prospect ;— from  whence  the 
arm  uf  Commerce  sends  her  store,  to  nations  far  remote  ; — adja- 
cent to  a  city,  that  's  wealthy,  large  and  flourishing. 

The  genial  warmth  of  the  air  had  now  an- 
imated anew  the  magnificence  of  nature's  works, 
and  the  verdant  scenery  of  spring  decked  the 
landscape  with  all  its  resplendent  colouring  and 
variety.    As  the  season  advanced,  all  classes  of 
people  had  recourse  to  their  favourite  walk  on 
the  Battery  either  for  pleasure,  or  as  an  allevia- 
tion from  the  toils  and  cares  of  business.     This 
healthy  promenade  drew  together  a  number  of 
the  citizens  in  the  morning,  but  many  more  re- 
sorted there  in  the  evening,  and  a  numerous 
throng  here  regaled  themselves,  and  rested  from 
the  busy,  bustling  occupations  of  the  day  ; — and 
at  the  same  time  were  spectators  of  thi?  most 
splendid  scene  imaginable.     When  the  sun  had 
gone  down  beneath  a  clear  horizon,  and  the 
moon  had  risen  in  silent  majesty,  dispensing  her 
light  over  the  unruffled  face  of  the  Hudson,  deco- 
rated with  a  numerous  sail,  representing  an  ini- 
mitable landscape,  sublime  and  beautiful. 

Alida  walked  out  one  evening,  and  repaired 
thither,  attended  by  Mr.  More.    She  could  not 

13* 


150 


A  L  I  D  A. 


have  had  a  more  agreeable  companion  in  this 
promenade.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  they  reach- 
ed the  Battery,  and  a  numerous  concourse  of 
people  had  already  collected  there.  The  mild 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  just  visible  above 
the  horizon,  and  cast  a  soft  lustre  over  the  adja- 
cent landscape,  when  they  entered  Castle-garden 
to  contemplate  more  nearly  the  surrounding 
scenery. 

They  seated  themselves  here,  while  they  dis- 
coursed on  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the  won* 
ders  of  creation, — descanting  on  the  goodnessi 
and  bounty  of  that  ineffable  Being,  from  whom 
all  our  blessings  flow  ; — the  continual  succession 
of  so  many  various  objects,  to  fill  the  mind  with 
rapture  and  enthusiasm,  and  strike  us  with  ven- 
eration and  awe. 

The  beauty  and  mildness  of  the  present  sea- 
son, the  copious  showers,  that  caused  the  earth 
to  abound  with  teeming  verdure  ;  all  of  which 
drew  the  contemplative  genius  insensibly  to  con- 
sider the  benevolent  purposes,  for  which  all  these 
varieties  are  called  forth  in  such  abundance,  to 
excite  the  gratitude  of  man,  and  furnish  a  per- 
petual source  of  pleasure  and  delight.  "And 
can  we,"  said  Alida,  "  who  are  conscious  of  de- 
riving our  existence  from  a  Being  of  such  infinite 
goodness  and  power,  properlv  entertain  other 


A  L  I  D  A. 


151 


prospects  than  those  of  happiness,  when  we  ex- 
perience so  many  blessings  daily,  to  excite  our 
thankfulness/' 

Mr.  Alore  expatiated  on  the  pleasure  there 
must  be  in  passing  a  tranr|uil  life  with  a  lovely 
and  beloved  object,  turning  his  insiduous  eyes 
towards  Alida  as  he  spoke ;  he  seemed  to  say, 
that  she  was  the  being,  with  whom  he  could  be 
able  to  realize  all  the  exalted  ideas  he  entertained 
ofsuchalife;  and  to  point  out  beauties,  and 
furnish  amusement,  to  a  renned  taste  like  hers, 
would  be  to  him  one  of  the  highest  pleasures  be 
could  possibly  experience.  When  he  declared 
to  her  his  esteem  and  affection,  with  his  native 
sincerity,  he  seemed  to  be  convinced,  at  the 
same  time,  that  she  was  favourably  disposed 
towards  him. 

Alida  was  evidently  much  embarrassed  at  this 
declaration.  She  remained  silent,  and  looked 
upon  him  with  a  degree  of  pity  mingled  with 
regret;  then  casting  down  her  eyes,  she  appear- 
ed greatly  confused.  She  could  not  make  any 
returns  in  his  favour,  and  the  amiable  Alida  felt 
extremely  sovry  to  give  pain  or  uneasinesf??  to  the 
friend  and  ^^chool  companion  of  an  only  brother. 
She  had  ve'ieived  him  with  complacency  on 
that  account,  which  had  served  to  increase  his 
ill-fated  partiality.     She  fejt  that  she  could  not 


152 


▲  L  I  D  A 


give  one  word  of  encouragement,  yet  slic  did  not 
wish  to  drive  him  to  despair. 

The  band  of  music  now  bejjan  to  play  in  the 
garden.  They  commenced  with  the  celebrated 
air  of  the  Star-Spangied  Banner,  and  continued 
playing  different  pieces  for  the  space  of  several 
hours. 

As  soon  as  the  music  ceased,  they  left  the  gar- 
den to  return  home.  When  they  arrived  at  the 
dwelUng  of  Alida,  they  found  that  the  time  had 
wiled  away  and  that  the  evening  had  progressed 
to  a  late  hour. 

On  his  way  home  the  aiind  of  Mr.  More  was 
absorbed  in  the  following  reflections.  "  When 
I  told  her  my  affection,  the  blush  was  diffused 
over  her  check — and  the  tear  of  sensibility  start- 
ed in  her  eye.  She  evinced  lier  regard  by  silent 
expressions,  which  she  has  shown  repeatedly  in 
many  proofs  of  interested  friendship,  blended 
with  nameless  attentions,  accompanied  by  the 
sweetness  of  her  winning  manners,  and  the  en- 
gaging mildness  of  her  disposition.  Bonville  is 
her  declared  admirer — but  he  may  not  be  a 
favoured  one.  Should  he  meet  with  her  appro- 
bation at  any  future  time,  would  not  his  own 
fate  be  wretched,  and  the  universe  would  become 
a  blank  deprived  of  the  society  of  Alida,  shaded 
over  with  the  deepest  tints  of  darkness  and  me- 
lancholy." ^''    *  ' 


\ 


rel 


A   L   I   D  A. 


J  53 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

O  Ut  me  view,  in  annual  succession,  my  children,  friends  and 
relatives.  Those  that  in  friendship's  bonds,  are  linked  together 
by  tics  of  dear  remembrance. 

The  scene  was  animated,  and  the  days  were 
delightfully  pleasant,  when  Alida  returned  with 
her  parents  to  the  country.  The  showers  of 
April  had  cleared  the  atmosphere,  and  revived 
the  earth  with  a  lively  gaiety.  The  ice  in  the 
bay  and  river  had  melted  ;iway,  and  the  steam- 
boat had  again  began  its  course.  The  rumbling 
water-fall  was  again  heard  at  the  mill,  the  pen- 
sive stream  stole  its  way  through  the  forest,  re- 
flecting from  its  lucid  bosom  the  light  cloud 
which  dwelt  in  the  air — floating  on  the  gentlest 
zephyrs.  The  hilh  and  mountains  teemed  with 
verdure,  and  the  serpentine  valleys  were  shaded 
by  a  Jriendly  foliage.  All  nature  flourished, 
grew,  and  expanded,  calling  forth  ejaculations 
of  gratitude  and  piety,  and  boldly  declaring  that 
a  celestial  Being  overshadows  ue  with  his  provi- 
dence. 

As  soon  as  the  family  were  settled  in  the  coun- 
try, the  parents  of  Alida  made  preparation  to 
call  the  children  together  in  commemoration  of 
their  father's  birthday.  When  the  time  arr' ved 
for  the  celebration  of  this  festive  scene,  the  morn- 


'ii 


;•/ 


BPa 


J  54 


A  L  I   O  A 


liiBi 


ing  arose  with  every  beauty  that  could  bid  fair 
for  a  cheerful  day. 

Bonvillc  was  among  those  who  arrived  from 
the  village.  He  appeared  in  excellent  spirits,  as 
if  some  new  thought  had  entered  his  mind,  which 
had  given  him  new  hopes  of  success.  He  in- 
formed Alida,  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  that 
he  had  received  intimation  from  a  friend  in  Eng- 
land, that  Theodore  was  now  living  in  London. 
After  hazarding  many  conjectures  respecting 
him,  he  then  ventured  to  add,  that  he  hoped  he 
had  not  met  there  any  new  object,  to  cause  him  to 
become  forgetful  of  foimer  friends.  Displeasure 
was  manifest  in  the  countenance  of  Alida,  at 
this  suspicion,  although  she  feared  it  might  be 
true.  Theodore  had  promised  to  be  faithful  in 
a  correspondence,  and  he  certainly  might  have 
found  opportunities,  since  the  happy  change  of 
affairs  in  the  country,  to  make  some  communi- 
cations to  his  friends,  if  he  had  been  so  disposed. 
Again  she  thought,  as  they  had  been  separated 
by  parental  authority,  that  it  might  have  its  in- 
fluence to  cause  him  to  become  altogether  forget- 
ful;—and  her  spirits  now  sunk  under  the  idea 
of  Theodore's  inconstancv.  Bonville  continued 
to  speak  of  him  with  indiHerence,  observing 
attentively  how  Alida  was  alTected.  He  in- 
quired earnestly  if  she  had  ever  received  any  in- 


A  L  I  D  A. 


155 


telligence  from  him,  during  his  absence,  (as  he 
thought  he  miiiht  have  written  to  her  brother.) 
She  answered  him  in  the  negative.  He  expres- 
sed his  surprise,  and  after  giving  many  dark  in- 
timations of  his  perfidy,  he  changed  the  subject 

Ahda  was  before  tliis  extremely  pensive  and 
thoughtful,  and  these  injurious  insinuations  of 
Theodore,  increased  her  dejection.  She  once 
firmly  believed,  she  had  a  friend  she  could  lean 
upon  under  all  circumstances,  and  his  falsity  ap- 
peared to  her  now  confirmed.  A  kind  of  gloomy 
superstition  pervaded  her  mind,  an  anxious  fore- 
boding of  future  evil,  which  all  her  pious  reflec- 
tions and  reasoning  powers  could  not  wholly 
control.  She  endeavoured  to  repress  these  pain- 
ful sensations,  when  in  the  presence  of  her  pa- 
rents ;  but  the  eyes  of  her  father  frequently  rest- 
ed on  her  in  filial ;  ixiety.  Her  brother  likewise 
would  often  observe  her  innate  srdness,  and 
whatever  his  thoughts  might  be  as  to  the  cause, 
he  was  still  reserved,  and  forebore  to  name  any 
thing  to  his  sister. 

Although  Bonville  was  sometimes  conscious 
of  his  injustice  towards  Theodore,  and  felt 
ashamed  of  his  conduct,  he  was  still  determined 
to  proceed  with  reiterated  calumnies,  to  the  ear 
of  Alida,  with  the  hope  to  ensure  her  hand  be- 
fore Theodore  would  probably  return  to  America. 


^1 


'/ 


111 


U. 


I)    1 

l»    1 


156 


A  L  I  D  A. 


U 


(( 


\ 


' 


L'  innoccnza  a  e  costretta  a  soiferirc,  con  vergogna  e 
condanno  dclla  culuiimia  e  della  malvagita,  alia  fine  piu 
ne  Irionfa.      . 

The  appearance  of  Bonville  was  imposing  to 
look  upon,  his  countenance  illumined  by  seeming 
sincerity  and  candour,  no  one  could  retain  an  idea 
for  any  length  of  time,  that  was  altogether  detri- 
mental. To  a  treacherous  heart,  he  joined  a 
frankness  of  manner  which  anmsed  and  inter- 
ested every  one  in  his  favour.  Though  no  one 
was  ever  more  careless  of  his  veracity,  yet  he 
carried  the  appearance  of  authenticity  in  all  he  '• 
said.  He  had  never  been  used  to  restraint,  or 
disappointment  by  the  silly  indulgence  of  his 
parents,  and  seemed  confident  that  he  should 
succeed  in  all  his  particular  wishes,  and  thought 
that  all  obstacles  could  be  surmounted  by  his 
own  machinations  and  management.  ' 

The  evening  was  drawing  near  its  close  by  a 
round  of  innocent  amusements,  when  a  letter 
was  handed  AUda  from  her  father,  that  he  had 
received  from  a  friend  in  the  city.  It  contained 
the  unwelcome  and  unexpected  news  of  the 
death  of  Mr.  Bolton,  who  arrived  at  Savannah 
at  an  unfavourable  season  of  the  year,  at  a  pe- 
riod when  an  epidemic  fever  prevailed.  He 
caught  the  infection,  and  a  few  days  terminated 
the  existence  of  this  amiable  and  accomplished 


▲  L  I  D  A  . 


167 


youth.  He  was  pious,  benevolent  and  chari- 
table. He  possessed  a  wisdom  firm  and  un- 
changeable, strictly  adhering  to  the  principles  of 
the  church  and  the  Christian  religion,  and  was 
steadfast  in  his  opinions  against  all  opposition. 
He  was  deeply  regretted  by  a  numerous  ac- 
quaintance. His  aunt  mourned  the  loss  of  her 
favourite  nephew,  and  Alida's  father  likewise 
deplored  his  premature  death,  although  he  had 
thought  proper  to  oppose  his  wishes. 


V 


( \ 


pe- 

He 

Ited 

led 


14 


|1 


158 


A  L  I  D  A 


M, 


chaptp:r  XXIV. 

There  f.he  niipht  read  in  nature's  pago  the  wonders  of  Creation, 
alniijihty  power,  infinite  wisdom  and  unbounded  mipht.  There  truths 
that  entertain,  reward  the  searching;  mind,  and  onward  lead  inquir- 
ing thoiiyht.  Tlie  rurions  wonders  stiil  unfold,  and  rise  upon  tho 
view.  The  mind  rejoicing,  comments  as  she  roads,  and  raises  still 
tolho  Almighty  Power  increasing  homage. 

The  summer  was  past  its  meridian,  and  had 
shed  abroad  its  warmest  influences,  and  enriched 
the  various  scenes  of  nature  with  the  luxuriance 
and  beauty  of  its  foliage.     In  the  mean  time, 
Alida  departed  again  from  her  father's  house  for 
the  city,  to  join  a  party  composed  of  gentlemen 
and  matrons,  Albert  her  brotlier,  with  several 
young  ladies,  who  all  left  the  port  of  New-York 
for  the  Falls  of  Niagara.    Her  pensive  mind  be- 
came  cheered  and    animated   as    the   gallant 
steamer  left  the  shores  of  the  city  and   moved 
majestically  over  the  smooth  face  of  the  Hudson. 
The  morning  was  extremely  beautiful,  and  she 
sur\eyed  with  a  new  and  alleviating  pleasure, 
the  various  and  extensive  prospect  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.     The  scenery  on  the  river  at 
this  season  sur[)assed  all  description,   and  exhi- 
bited a  landscape  worthy  to  relate  in  history. 
The  borders  of  the  river  beautifully  interspersed 
with  cottages,    villages  and  large  flourishing 


•; 


A  L  I   D  A  . 


159 


efor 
men 
eral 
ork 
be- 
lant 
ved 
son. 
she 
ure, 
sur- 
rat 
hi- 
)ry. 
rsed 


towns,  elrpfant  country-seats,  with  grounds  taste- 
fully laid  out,  which  alVorded  to  the  eye  of  the 
traveller  a  novel  and  enchaniinc^  appearance. 
They  arrived  about  sunset  at  tl.ic  city  of  Albany. 
They  took  lodgings  at  Cruttenden's  hoarding- 
house,  on  an  eminence  near  the  Capitol  or 
State-house. 

This  city,  which  is  situated  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Hudson,  and  stands  westward  upon  a  ris- 
ing ground,  received  its  name,  when  in  possession 
of  the  English,  in  honour  of  James  II.,  who  was 
the  duke  of  York  and  Albany.  On  the  follow- 
ing morning  they  took  a  walk  through  the  city. 
In  consequence  of  its  vicinity  to  the  Ballston, 
Saratoga,  and  New  Lebanon  Springs,  in  the 
fashionable  season  the  hotel  was  so  full  of  stran- 
gers that  no  more  could  be  accommodated. 

Albany  has  received  a  new  impulse,  an  in- 
crease of  connnerce,  and  expects  to  reap  the 
most  happy  results  from  the  Erie  canal,  which 
commences  here,  and  runs  a  distance  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty-two  miles  to  Lake  Erie.  The 
company  took  a  walk  to  the  new  basin,  into 
which  the  canal  empties.  It  is  sc^paratcd  from 
the  Hudson  by  a  dam  which  runs  parallel  with 
the  river. 

On  the  morning  of  the  14th  of  August  they 
took  passage  on  board  of  the  Albany,  one  of  the 


Ml) 


M 


160 


A  L  I   D  A  . 


canal  packet-boats,  for  Lake  Erie.  This  canal, 
which  is  three  hundred  and  sixty-two  miles  in 
length,  with  eighty-three  locks  between  the  Hud- 
son river  and  Lake  Erie,  which  lies  six  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  feet  above  the  level  of  the  former 
river.  The  packet-boat  took  them  from  thence 
to  Schenectady.  It  was  covered,  and  contained 
a  spacious  cabin.  On  account  of  the  great  num- 
ber of  the  locks,  the  progress  of  their  journey  was 
but  slow.  The  boat  was  drawn  by  three  horses, 
that  walked  upon  a  narrow  path  leading  along 
the  canal,  and  beneath  the  numerous  bridges 
which  are  thrown  over  it.     " 

The  distance  from  Albany  to  Schenectady  by 
land  is  only  fifteen  miles,  and  persons  are  en- 
abled to  travel  it  in  a  very  short  time  in  a  stage 
coach,  but  as  they  were  anxious  to  see  the  canal, 
they  preferred  going  by  water  twenty-eight  miles. 
The  city  of  Troy,  five  miles  and  a  half  above 
Albany,  is  pleasantly  situated  on  the  loft  bank  of 
the  river,  at  the  foot  of  several  tolerably  high 
mountains,  one  of  which  is  called  Mount  Ida. 
There  is  a  branch  canal,  which  has  two  locks, 
and  establishes  a  communication  with  Troy. 
They  soon  arrived  at  a  place  where  there  were 
no  less  than  nine  locks,  with  an  ascent  of  seven- 
ty-eight feet.  In  front,  and  to  the  right  of  this, 
is  another  canal,  which  unites  with  the  Hudson 


A  L  I  DA. 


161 


and  the  canal  from  Lake  Champlain.     At  this 
place  they  left  the  Hiulson,  and  directed  tlieir 
course  along  the  Moiiawk  river.     Durinn^  their 
ride,  they  observed  a  covered  wooden  brids^e, 
which  extends  over  the  latter  river,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  its  moiUh,  and  is  nbout  six  hundred 
feet  in  length,  supported  by  fifteen  wooden  piers. 
There  was  a  fine  view  of  the  famous  Cohoes 
Falls  of  the  Mohawk  river,  fc;cvenfy-eigbt  feet  in 
height,  and  about  four  hundred  feet  wide.     In 
the  spring,  when  these  falls  extend  over  the  en- 
tire bed  of  the  Mohawk,  they  are  said  to  be  ex- 
tremely magnificent.    During  tliis  season  of  dry 
weather,  they  presented  a  very  handsome  ap- 
pearance, though  they  were  very  small,  the  river 
being  almost  completely  dried  up    Finding  great 
difficulty  in  continuing  the  canal  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Mohawk,  they  were  obliged  here  to 
carry  it  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  by  means 
of  an  aqueduct  bridge  one  thousand  one  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  feet  in  length.     This  bridge  is 
supported  by  twenty-six  stone  columns,  on  which 
account  they  have  placed  a  chevaux-de-frieze  to 
keep  oflf  the  ice  in  the  river.     The  canal  is  cut 
through  the  rocks  almost  the  whole  distance, 
where  it  runs  along  the  left  bank  of  the  Mo- 
hawk, and  presents  a  very  handsome  appear- 
ance.   Twelve  miles  further  on,  it  returns  again 

14^ 


[p 


162 


A  L  I  D  A 


to  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  by  a  similar  aque- 
duct, supported  by  sixteen  piers.  Four  miles 
farther  on  is  Schenectady,  wiiere  they  arrived 
after  sunset.  Between  tliis  town  and  Albany 
they  passed  no  less  than  twenty-seven  locks. 
At  this  place  they  left  the  packet-boat,  and  found 
excellent  lodgings  at  Given's  hotel,  which,  after 
the  great  heat  they  had  endured  during  the  day, 
was  exceedingly  agreeable.  Early  on  the  next 
morning  they  walked  through  the  town,  and 
visited  Union  College,  which  consists  of  two  \ 
large  buildings  situated  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  town,  u[3on  a  liltle  eminence.  From  this 
building  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of  the  town 
and  of  the  Mohawk  valley.  They  left  Schenec- 
tady early  in  the  morning  on  board  the  packet- 
boat,  which  had  engaged  to  take  them  to  Utica, 
eighty  miles  distant,  by  an  early  hour  the  next 
day.  The  canal  again  ran  along  the  well  cul- 
tivated valley  of  the  Mohawk,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  country,  on  account  of  tlie  foliage  of  the 
trees  upon  the  heights,  was  beautiful. 

The  village  of  Amsterdam  consists  of  a  few 
neat  houses.  The  canal  is  carried  over  two 
rivers,  called  Schoharie,  Canajoharie,  from  which 
it  receives  the  most  of  its  water.  At  this  place 
the  horses  were  conveyed  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  two  rivers  by  means  of  a  ferry-boat.    At  the 


A  L  I  D  A. 


163 


first  ferry  is  a  small  village  called  Fort  Hunter, 
where  at  the  time  of  the  revolution  there  had 
been  a  fort,  or  rather  a  redoubt  of  the  same 
name.     Towards  evening  they  passed  through 
a  valley,  which  is  formed  by  two  rocky  moun- 
tains.    There  are  twenty  locks  between  Sche- 
nectady and  U(ica.     The  day  w^as  intolerably 
warm,  and  the  company  very  much  oppressed 
by  the  heat,  but  in  the  evening  fortunately  there 
was  a  thunder-shower,  which  cooled  the  air. 
They  passed  over  an  nqueduct  bridge  during  the 
night,  which  stands  over  a  solace  called  Little 
Falls.     Towards  morning  they  passed  through 
a  weil-cuitivated  region  called  German  Flats, 
which  w^as  settled  by  some  Germans  during  the 
time  of  dueen  Anne.  At  about  ten  o'clock  they 
arrived  at  Utica,  which  is  intersected  by  the  ca- 
nal, and  is  a  large  flourishing  town.     In  fact  it 
is  only  here  that  a  person  begitis  to  admire  the 
great  improvements  in  cultivation,  and  gets  per- 
fectly new  ideas  of  the  works  of  man  and  of  his 
enterprising  genius.    Utica,  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  Mohaw  k,  has  two  banks  and  four  churches. 
It  has  also  several  taverns.     The  number  of 
travellers  this  summer  were  unusually  great, 
especially  from  the  southern  states. 


164 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

When  first  beside  the  lake  thy  turrets  rose, 
Extendintj  »ar  around  in  simple  pride, 

A  novel  beauty  o'<t  tlic  landscape  throws, 
Where  gentle  waters  softly  nmrmurinf;  glide. 

At  Udca  the  gentlemen  hired  a  stage  to  vieit 
the  Falls  of  Trenton,  distant  fourteen  miles. 
They  were  accompanied  in  this  route  by  a  num- 
ber of  passengers  from  New -York  and  North 
Carolitia.  They  crossed  the  Mohawk  upon  a 
covered  wooden  bridge.  After  this  the  road 
gradually  ascended  to  a  forest,  which  wfis  in 
part  cleared  for  new  fields.  At  a  little  distance 
from  the  falls  is  a  tavern,  where  they  left  the 
carriage,  and  went  on  foot  through  thick  woods, 
from  which  a  pair  of  stairs  conducted  to  the 
falls.  The  beautiful  mass  of  green  around,  the 
azure  sky,  the  large  and  variegated  rocks,  and 
the  three  falls,  produce  a  most  happy  effect. 
The  rocks  of  these  falls  are  so  excavated  by  the 
water,  that  they  have  the  form  of  a  common 
kettle.  The  upper  falls,  which  are  about  ninety 
feet  high,  are  the  grandest.  They  diried  at  the 
tavern,  and  towards  evening  returned  to  Utica. 

The  day  was  fine  and  pleasant.  They  re- 
gretted that  it  was  too  late,  upon  their  return 
thither,  to  visit  a  hydrostatic  lock  oesigaed  to 


\ 


A  L   I  D  A  . 


165 


weigh  the  boats  which  pass  on  the  canal.  Hav- 
ing seen  enough  of  the  canal,  ami  being  anxious 
to  sec  the  newly-settled  country  between  this  place 
and  Niagara,  they  continued  their  journey  the 
next  day  in  the  stage  coach.  With  this  inten- 
tion they  left  Utica  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  same  day  arrived  at  Auburn,  distant 
seventy-three  miles.  Something  further  on,  after 
they  had  left  Oneida,  they  came  to  a  small  lake, 
called  Salt  Lake,  which  is  in  the  midst  of  a  for- 
est, and  has  on  its  banks  three  picturesquely 
situated  towns,  Liverpool,  Salina,  and  Syracuse. 
At  Salina  are  rich  salt  springs,  the  water  of 
which  is  collected  in  reservoirs,  and  it  is  evapo- 
rated by  the  heat  of  the  sun  to  procure  the  salt. 
Beyond  Sullivan  they  passed  through  the  village 
of  Chitteningo.  A  branch  of  the  Erie  canal 
forms  a  kind  of  harbour  at  this  place.  They 
dined  at  Manlius,  a  new  village.  From  the  ca- 
nal, which  forms  an  angle  here,  they  drove  in  a 
southerly  direction  in  order  to  keep  on  the  plains. 
The  two  Onondago  villages  are  pleasant  places. 
Beyond  Marcellus  the  night  unfortunately 
closed  in,  which  prevented  their  seeing  Ska- 
neateles  Lake,  as  well  as  the  town  of  the  same 
name.  About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  they 
arrived  at  Auburn,  and  found  good  accommo- 
datioas  at  one  of  the  public  houses. 


166 


A  L  1  D  A  . 


At  four  o'clock  next  morning  they  again  set 
out  in  the  stage  coach  for  Rochester,  distant  six- 
ty-nine miles.  It  was  just  day-light  when  they 
arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Cayuga,  on  the  lake  of 
the  same  name.  This  lake  empties  into  the 
Seneca  river,  which  afterwards  unites  with  the 
Mohawk.  They  crossed  the  lake,  not  far  from 
its  mouth,  on  a  wooden  bridge  one  mile  in  length. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  is  a  large  toll- 
house. At  a  short  distance  from  this  they  ar-  \ 
rived  at  Seneca  Falls,  so  called  in  consequence 
of  thejittle  falls  of  the  Seneca  river,  which  are 
close  by,  and  are  chiefly  formed  by  a  mill-dam. 
Beyond  Waterloo  the  road  in  some  places  was 
made  of  logs,  so  that  the  passengers  were  very 
disagreeably  jolted.  Geneva  is  situated  at  the 
north  point  of  Seneca  Lake.  The  town  derives 
its  name  from  its  similarity  of  situation  to  Geneva 
in  Switzerland.  The  Franklin  hotel,  situated 
on  the  bank  of  the  lake,  is  both  spacious  and 
beautiful. 

Canandaigua,  which  lies  on  the  north  point 
of  the  lake  of  the  same  name,  is  an  extremely 
pleasant  town.  The  court  was  sitting  here,  and 
there  was  a  large  collection  of  people,  so  that  the 
town  exhibited  a  very  lively  appearance.  At 
this  place  the  road  separates,  the  left  goes  through 
Batavia  and  several  small  villages  to  Buffalo  on 


A  L  I  D  A. 


167 


Lake  Erie  ;  the  right  to  Rochester,  and  thence 
to  Lake  Ontario  and  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  And 
as  this  road  again  approaches  the  Eric  canal,  it 
was  said  to  be  the  most  interesting ;  on  this  ac- 
count it  was  given  the  preference,  though  the 
longest  route.  They  left  Canandaigua  in  the 
afternoon,  and  rode  through  Victor,  Mendon,  and 
Pittsford,  to  Rochester.  They  arrived  at  Roches- 
ter at  half-past  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
took  lodgings  at  the  Eagle  tavern.  They  crossed 
the  Genessee  river,  which  divides  Rochester  into 
two  parts,  on  a  wooden  bridge  built  firmly  and 
properly,  and  the  next  morning  walked  through 
the  town. 

Rochester  is  one  of  the  most  flourishing  towns 
in  the  state  of  New- York.  At  this  place  the  Erie 
canal  is  carried  over  the  Genessee  river  by  a  stone 
aqueduct  bridge.  This  aqueduct,  which  is  about 
one  hundred  yards  above  the  Genessee  Falls, 
rests  upon  a  slate  rock,  and  is  seven  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  long. 

The  party  now  left  Rochester  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  went  on  board  the  canal  packet-boat  Ohio. , 
The  canal,  between  Lockport  and  Rochester, 
runs  the  distance  of  sixty-three  miles  through  a 
tolerably  level  country,  and  north  of  the  Roches- 
ter ridge.  This  ridge  consists  of  a  series  of  rocks, 
which  form  the  chain  of  mountains  which  com- 


168 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


inences  north  of  Lake  Erie,  stretches  eastward  to 
the  Niagara  river,  confines  it,  and  forms  its  falls ; 
then  continues  its  course,  and  forms  the  diflferent 
falls  which  are  north  of  Lake  Ontario,  and  is  at 
length  lost  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Hudson. 
The  canal  runs  a  distance  through  sombre  fo- 
rests, when  they  reached  Lockport  on  the  20th 
of  August,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
At  this  jilace  the  canal  is  carried  ovei"  the  ridge 
by  five  large  locks,  through  which  the  w^atcr  is  \ 
raised  to  the  height  of  seventy-six  feet.  The 
locks  are  ten  in  number,  being  arranged  in  two 
parallel  rows,  so  that  wliile  the  boats  ascend  in 
one  row,  they  may  descend  at  the  same  time  in 
the  other.        r 

Lockport  is  an  extremely  pleasant  place,  and  is 
situated  just  above  the  locks.  At  Lockport  they 
took  a  dearborn  for  Buffalo,  where  they  were 
anxious  to  go,  in  order  to  see  the  union  of  the 
cana^  with  Lake  Erie.  Though  a  good  stage 
runs  between  Lockport  and  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
they  went  in  this  »ad  vehicle  five  miles  to  the 
navigable  part  of  the  canal.  They  then  took 
passage  in  a  boat  at  Cottensburgh.  At  this  place 
also,  the  canal  is  cut  through  a  rock  to  the  depth 
of  about  thirty  feet.  About  two  or  three  miles 
farther  on  it  terminates  in  the  Tonnawanta 
.  creek,  which  serves  as  a  canal  for  twelve  miles. 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


169 


The  creek  is  about  fifty  yards  wide,  and  runs 
through  a  dense  and  beautiful  forest.  At  the 
new  town  of  Tonnawanta,  the  creek  unites  with 
the  Niagara  river,  where  the  sluice  leads  off.  At 
this  place  also  Alida  and  her  company  had  the 
first  view  of  the  Niagara  river,  which  conveys 
the  waters  of  Lake  Erie  into  Lake  Ontario,  from 
the  other  extremity  of  which  flows  the  St.  Law- 
rence. In  this  river  they  observed  Grand  Island. 
During  the  late  war,  the  Niagara,  it  is  well 
known,  formed  the  boundary  line  between  the 
United  States  and  tlie  British  provinces  in  Up- 
per Canada,  and  this  island  bore  testimony  of 
the  conflict. 


iro 


▲  L  I  D  A. 


.?•■ 


■     CHAPTER  XXVI. 

From  war's  dread  ravages  again  is  seen, 
A  spacious  town,  and  Buffalo  the  name,    .: 
Now  rising  from  its  ashes,  spreads  around. 
Various  new  structures  fill  the  empty  ground. 


From  Tonnawanta  to  Buffalo  is  eight  miles, 
fiv(5  of  which  they  travelled  on  the  canal  which 
runs  along  the  bank  of  the  Niagara  river  as  far 
as  Black  Rock. 

Buffalo  was  burnt  during  the  late  war  by  the 
British,  but  it  appeared  to  be  already  rising  from 
its  ashes  with  increased  beauty. 

This  town  will  soon  become  an  important 
place,  in  consequence  of  its  situation  near  the 
mouth  of  the  canal,  and  its  harbour.  At  the  en- 
trance of  the  harbour  is  a  light-house,  and  on  the 
lake  were  seen  a  number  of  well-built  vessels. 
A  eteam-boat  called  the  Superior  was  ready  to 
run  with  fifty  passengers  to  Erie,  and  thence  to 
Detroit.  There  was  an  amusing  military  spec- 
tacle. It  consisted  of  a  military  parade,  consist- 
of  thirty  men,  including  seven  officers  and  two 
cornets.  They  were  formed  like  a  battallion  into 
six  divisions  and  performed  a  numl)er  of  ma- 
noeuvres. 

On  the  following  day,  2lwf  of  Augustj  the 


A  L  I  D  A. 


171 


company  left  Buflalo  for  the  small  village  of 
Manchester,  twenty-three  miles  distant,  and  situ- 
ated on  the  right  bank  of  the  Niagara,  near  the 
falls.  As  far  as  the  village  of  Tonnawanta,  the 
road  passes  along  the  canal.  It  was  in  a  very 
bad  condition,  cut  through  the  forest,  and  the 
trees  thrown  on  the  road  side.  On  the  left  they 
had  a  view  of  the  river  and  Grand  Island.  The 
river  is  more  than  a  mile  wide  below  the  island. 
On  the  Canada  side  is  the  village  of  Chippewa. 
From  this  place,  a  distance  of  three  miles,  they 
could  already  see  the  rising  vapours  of  Uie  falls. 
The  water,  howeverj  indicated  no  signs  of  the 
approach  to  the  precipice.  It  is  only  a  short  dis- 
tance from  Manchester,  where  you  perceive  the 
lofty  trees  on  Goat  Island,  with  its  heights  situ- 
ated in  the  rn^ist  of  the  falls,  that  the  river  be- 
comes rocky,  and  the  rapids  commence ;  these 
form  a  number  of  small  falls,  which  are  nearly 
a  mile  long  and  the  same  in  breadth,  running 
as  far  as  where  the  two  great  falls  are  separated 
by  CoPt  Island. 

At  Manchester  they  took  lodgings  at  the 
Eagle  Tavern,  and  hastened  immediately  to  the 
Falls;  their  steps  were  guided  by  the  mighty 
roaring.  In  a  few  minutes  Alida  and  her  com- 
pany stood  near  the  precipirc^  and  saw  before 
them  the  immense  mass  of  water  which  rushes 


t  a 


V] 


■ 


172 


A  L  I    D  A 


with  a  tremendous  noise  into  the  frightful  abyss 
below.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scene,  and 
the  pen  is  tcM)  feeble  to  delineate  the  simultane- 
ous feelings  of  our  insignificance  on  the  one  hand, 
with  those  of  grandeur  and  sublimity  on  the 
other,   which  agitate  the  human  breast  at  the 
sight  of  this  stupendous  work  of  nature,  which 
rivals  *hat  of  all  other  countries,  in  grandeur, 
beautj  and  magnificence.     We  can  only  gaze, 
admire  and  ndore.     The  rocks  on  both  sides  are 
perpendicular,  but  there  is  a  wooden  staircase 
which  leads  to  the  bed  of  the  river.  They  descend- 
ed, but  in  consequence  of  the  drizzly  rain  which 
is  produced  by  the  foam  of  the  water,  they  had 
by  no  means  so  fine  a  prospect  from  below  as 
they  anticipated.     On  this  t   jount,  theref'»e, 
they  soon  again  ascended  and  satisfied  them- 
selves by  looking  from  above  upon  this  sublime 
and  majestic  sight.     As  they  returned  full  of 
these  mighty  impressions,  to  the  Eagle  Tavern, 
they  found  to  their  great  joy  a  fine  opportunity 
to  speak  of  the  grandeur  and  magnificence  they 
had  just  beheld.     There  was  another  party  just 
arrived  from  New- York,  to  render  homage  to 
this  great  natural  curiosity. 

In  company  with  these  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
they  took  a  walk  to  Goat-Island,  by  a  convenient 
wooden  bridge,  thrown  over  the  rapids  about 


A  L  I  D  A 


173 


seven  years  since  The  first  bridge  leads  to  a 
small  island  called  Balh-Island.  whicii  contains 
a  bath-house  ;  the  second  to  Goat-Island,  which 
is  about  one  mile  in  circumference,  and  over- 
grown with  old  and  beautiful  trees. 

On  Bath-Island  a  person  may  approach  so 
near  the  American  falls  as  to  look  into  the  abyss 
below.  From  the  foot  of  the  fulls  yon  can  se^^. 
nothing  of  the  abyss,  inasmuch  as  every  thing 
is  concealed  by  the  smoke  and  vapour.  On 
Goat-Island  a  person  may  in  tiie  same  manner 
approach  the  Canadian  fails,  in  the  centre  of 
which  is  a  semi-circular  hollow,  called  the  Horse- 
shoe, and  here  the  noise  is  still  more  tremendous 
than  on  the  other  side.  The  vapour  which  rises 
from  the  Horse-shoe,  forms  a  thick  mist,  which 
may  be  seen  at  a  great  distance.  To  look  into 
the  Horse-shoe  is  awful  and  horrible.  Nor  can 
this  be  done  but  at  the  instant  when  the  vapour 
is  somewhat  dissipated.  You  stand  like  a  petri- 
fied being.  The  level  of  Lake  Erie  is  said  to  be 
five  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  above  that  of 
the  sea,  and  three  h  ndred  and  thirty-four  feet 
above  the  waters  of  Lake  Ontario.  Lake  On- 
tario is  consequently  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea.  From  Lake  Erie  to 
the  rapids,  the  water  has  a  fall  of  fifteen  feet,  in 
the  rapidy  fifty  seven  feet^  and  according  to  a  re- 

15* 


1 


174 


A  L  I  D  A. 


eent  tneasuretnent,  the  falls  on  the  American  side 
are  one  liundred  and  sixty-lwo  feet  high.  From 
this  place  *  to  Lewistown  the  river  has  a  fall  of 
one  hundred  and  four  feet,  and  thence  to  Lake 
Ontario,  of  two  feet. 

The  next  morning  they  made  another  visit 
to  Goat-Island.  They  afterwards  descended  the 
stairs  to  the  river,  which  they  crossed  in  a  small 
boat,  at  a  short  distance  from  both  falls.  The 
bed  of  the  river  is  said  to  be  here  two  hundred 
and  forty-six  feet  deep.  The  current  passes 
beneath  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  does  not 
again  become  visible  till  after  a  distance  of  three 
miles.  On  the  Canada  side  you  have  a  much 
better  view  of  the  falls  than  on  the  American, 
for  you  see  both  falls  at  the  sanje  time.  There 
is  o  the  Canada  side  a  covered  wooden  stair- 
case, which  they  ascended,  and  approached  the 
falls,  amidst  a  constant  drizzling  caused  by  the 
falling  water.  The  sun  threw  his  rays  upon  the 
thick  mist  and  formed  a  beautiful  rainbow. 
Another  winding  stair-case  leads  down  the  rocks 
near  the  falls,  under  which  you  may  walk  to  the 
distance  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet;  several 
of  the  gentlemen  went  in,  but  according  to  their 
report  they  could  not  see  any  thing.  They  were 
contented  therefore  to  behold  the  falls  from 
Table  rock,  which  almost  overhangs  them.     A 


; 


A  L  I  D  A. 


176 


part  of  this  rock  gave  way  several  years  ago  and 
fell  down  the  precipice,  and  the  remaining  part 
is  so  much  undermined  by  the  water,  that  it 
will  probably  soon  follow.  The  whole  distance 
from  the  American  to  the  Brilish  shore  is  four- 
teen hundred  yards,  of  which  three  hundred  and 
eighty  belong  to  the  American  falls,  three  hun- 
dred and  tliirty  to  Goat-Island,  and  seven  hun- 
dred to  the  Canada  or  Horsc-shce  falls.  On  the 
British  side,  opposite  to  the  falls  are  two  taverns, 
in  the  larger  of  which,  Forsyth's  Hotel,  they 
took  lodginijs  until  the  next  day.  During  the 
late  war  a  bridge  was  thrown  over  the  river 
about  one  mile  above  this  tavern,  which,  together 
with  a  mill,  was  burnt  by  the  Americans  on  their 
retreat  from  the  battle  of  Lundys  Lane.  A  few 
years  ago  a  burning  spring  was  discovered  here. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  cask,  and  contains  cold 
water  of  a  blackish  appearance,  and  of  a  sulphur- 
ous taste.  Within  this  cask  is  a  small  vessel 
which  has  a  pipe  at  the  u[)per  end.  If  a  lighted 
candle  be  hold  within  a  foot  of  the  mouth  of  this 
pipe,  it  will  instantly  produce  a  strong  flame, 
similar  to  a  gas-light.  In  the  neighbourhood  of 
Forsyth's  Hotel  is  the  only  point  from  which  you 
have  a  full  view  of  both  falls  at  the  same  time, 
which,  however,  is  oiten  interrupted  by  the 
ascending  vapour.  i 


.!•■ 


■f^ 


:ih 


.  r 


t  -"i 


176 


A  L  I  D  A 


On  their  return  to  the  American  shore,  they 
examined  a  camera  obscura,  which  is  situated  at 
the  head  of  the  American  stair-case,  and  was 
built  by  a  Swiss.  This  gives  a  tolerably  good 
view  of  the  falls.  Afterwards  they  took  a  ride 
to  the  Whirlpool,  which  is  three  miles  down  the 
Niagara,  and  is  formed  by  a  kind  of  rocky  basin 
where  the  river  runs  between  narrow  rocky 
banks.  It  is  singular  to  see  this  confusion  of\ 
water,  whose  appearance  cannot  be  better  de- 
scribed, than  by  comparing  it  with  the  flowing  of 
melted  lead.  The  lofty  rocks  which  form  the 
banks  of  the  river,  are  beautifully  covered  with 
wood  and  present  a  stately,  majestic  appearance. 
In  the  evening  they  again  went  to  Goat-Island 
in  order  to  view  the  falls  by  bright  moonlight ; 
in  this  light  they  produce  a  peculiarly  beautiful 
effect,  which  is  greatly  heightened  by  a  moon- 
rainbow. 

The  following  day  both  parties  went  to  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  and  took  lodgings  at  For- 
syth's Hotel.  '         '-   k  * 


High  on  Hyria*s  rock  my  muse  repose, 
While  I  wild  nature's  direful  scenes  disclose, 
Nor  lot  wing'd  Fancy's  bold  creatiwicaid, 
Paint  beyond  truth  what  nature's  God  has  made ; 
Inspired  by  him  let  ev'ry  flowing  line, 
Described  correctly,  through  the  numbers  shine. 


A  L  I  D  A 


177 


or- 


Fed  by  a  thousand  springs  and  purling  rillst 

Ocean's  internal,  the  wild  torrent  fills. 

Lakes  Michigan,  Superior,  there  we  see, 

Concent'ring  Huron's  flood  with  proud  Erio : 

The  awful  stream  its  wond'rous  course  began, 

Rolled  the  rich  flood  before  the  date  of  man, 

From  Buflalo  to  Chippewa,  bends  its  course. 

Full  eighteen  miles  with  calm,  and  rapid  force. 

By  Grand  Isle  passes,  where  its  stream  divides 

Whose  circling  course,  majestic,  downward  glides. 

Meets  then  again  a  verdant  island  long. 

Gathers  the  weeping  brook  and  swells  more  strong, 

Widening  the  swift  high-mounted  torrent  flies. 

Like  lightening  bursting  from  the  thund'ring  skies. 

The  time-worn  cliff's,  retiring  to  their  source, 

Shews  countless  ages  it  has  run  its  course. 

The  Schlo)  ser  fall  eight  hundred  ninety.two 

Will  count  the  feet  how  broad  this  current  grew. 

Two  thousand  with  two  hundred  crescent  line  '     ^ 

Will  the  full  breadth  of  horse-shoe  fail  define. 

The  little  fall,  with  width  of  seventy-three, 

Will  tell  whence  Neptune  feeds  his  hungry  sea. 

Tumbling  one  hundred  sixty  feet,  they  all  \ 

Make  one  loud  groaning  in  Niagara  fall. 

Thick  hov'ring  mists  in  mountain  vapours  rise,  , 

Bright  colour'd  rainbows  gild  the  azure  skies. 

The  dazzled  eye,  fiU'd  with  the  novel  blaze 

Beholds,  astonish'd,  their  refracted  rays. 

Nor  ends  the  awful  scene,  till  down  the  view,       ' 

Through  the  dark  gulf,  these  boiling  floods  pursue. 

Their  course  'tween  mountain  rocks,  which  form  the  shore. 

Through  which,  tremendous  raging  billow's  roar, 

Until  they  form  a  bay,  where  tide-worn  trees, 

In  conflicts  wild  rage  round  the  whirlpool  seas : 


l\ 


178 


▲  LISA 


Hujre  splinter'd  logt  here  twiafJng  round  and  roand, 
With  many  a  turn  before  they  quit  the  ground ; 
At  length  escaping  from  the  circling  tide, 
Side-long  slide  off,  and  with  u  bouncing  glide-, 
Head.Iong  adown  through  rtpid streams  are  toesM, 
Until  in  wide  Ontario's  lake  are  lost. 
Neptune  thus  roused  leayefi  now  the  wat*ry  plain. 
To  seek  the  source  from  whence  he  h<dds  his  reign. 
Full  in  the  view  of  this  tTemendous  scene, 
Adjacent  here,  a  table  ro<;k  is  seen  ; 
Where  love-sick  swains  in  clambering  groups  repair*. 
Conducting  tim'rous  nymphs  with  anziou j  care : 
'Dew*d  with  the  spray,  the  wild*red  eye  surveys. 
The  rushing  waters  shout  their  Maker's  praise^ 


A  L  1  DA. 


179 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


Revolving  ypars  have  since  rolUd  on  apace, 
Since  patriots  here,  convened  to  form  weVe  told, 

The  school  to  train  the  military  band, 
And  Putnam's  fortress  still  we  may  behold. 

The  season  was  now  far  advanced.  Alida 
and  her  brother  felt  uneasy  at  being  so  long 
separated  from  their  fether.  The  rest  of  the 
party  were  anxious  again  to  see  their  friends  in 
the  city.  After  tarrying  a  few  days  at  Forsyth's 
Hotel,  they  determined  to  proceed  on  their  way 
back  again  to  New-York  without  delay. 

They  therefore  concluded  to  travel  soon,  and 
visit  Lake  Champlain  to  its  southern  extremity, 
then  to  Saratoga,  Albany,  taking  the  Catskill 
mountains  by  the  way,  and  inspecting  the  fa- 
mous military  school  of  West  Point. 

The  greatest  breadth  of  Lake  Champlain, 
which  contains  several  large  islands,  is  six  miles. 
The  shore  on  the  right,  belonging  to  the  state 
of  New- York,  is  low  and  covered  witli  trees ; 
the  other  belongs  to  Yermont,  and  is  more 
mountainous.  As  night  approached,  they  were 
prevented  from  beholding  thiF  L;  "dutiful  part  of 
the  country ;  and  were  also,  vv  ih  regret,  pre- 
vented fiom  seeing  the  battle-ground  of  Platts- 
burgh,  at  which  town  the  vessel  made  a  short 


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180 


A  L  I  D  A. 


stay  during  the  night,  and  then  proceeded  to 
Burlington,  in  Vermont,  and  towards  morning 
passed  by  the  ruins  of  Fort  Crown  Point,  which 
lie  on  a  hill. 

At  this  place  the  Lake  is  very  narrow,  and 
resembles  a  river.  The  shores  are  generally 
covered  with  bushes  and  pine  trees,  are  hilly, 
and  afford  a  pleasing  prospect.  They  now  pur- 
sued their  journey  as  far  as  Lake  George,  and 
arrived  at  the  village  of  Caldwell. 

They  left  Caldwell  at  eight  o'clock  the  next 
day,  in  two  inconvenient  carriages,  and  passed 
through  a  very  uninteresting,  deep,  sandy  road, 
in  a  hilly  part  of  the  country,  covered  with 
thorny  ttoes,  on  their  route  to  Saratoga  Springs, 
to  which  the  whole  fashionable  world  of  the 
United  States  repair  in  summer,  and  the  fash- 
ionables have  here  the  same  mania  which  pre- 
vails in  other  countries,  to  visit  the  baths  in 
summer,  whether  sick  or  well.  The  distance  is 
twenty-seven  miles.  On  their  passage  was 
seen  but  one  interesting  object,  the  Hudson 
falls,  which  river  they  had  left  at  Albany,  and 
reached  again  nine  miles  from  Caldwell,  coming 
from  the  west. 

These  falls  are,  however,  under  the  name  of 
Glenn's  Falls.  A  village  of  the  same  name  is 
built  in  their  vicinity,  on  the  rocky  shores  of  the 


■WP 


A  L  I  D  A. 


181 


M 


river.  The  principal  fall  is  forty  feet  high. 
These  faUs  are  not  to  be  numbered  among  the 
largest,  but  among  the  handsomest  in  the  United 
States.  A  constant  mist  arises  from  them,  and, 
as  the  sun  shone  very  brilliantly,  several  rain- 
bows were  seen  at  the  same  time.  In  the  rock, 
as  at  Niagara,  were  some  remarkable  and  deep 
cavities.  At  the  base  of  the  small  island  which 
divides  the  chief  fall  into  two  parts,  a  remarkable 
cave  appears  below  the  falls,  leading  to  the 
other  side  of  the  rock.  The  Hudson  is  partly 
navigable  above  Glenn's  Falls,  and  two  miles 
farther  up,  feeds  a  navigable  canal,  with  thirteen 
locks,  which  runs  seven  miles  north  of  the  Hud- 
son, and  there  joins  Champlain  canal. 

The  party  arrived  at  Saratoga  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  stopped  at  Congress  Hall. 
The  greater  part  of  the  company  had  already 
departed,  so  that  but  few  remained;  among 
these  was  the  governor  of  the  state  of  New- 
York.  They  were  introduced  to  his  excellency. 
The  gentlemen  conversed  with  him  freely,  and 
{ound  him  intelligible  and  refined,  and  scientific 
in  his  conversation. 

In  the  evening  the  company  assemble  in  tbe 
large  hall  in  the  lower  story,  and  pass  away  the 
time  in  music,  dancing  or  conversation,  where 

16 


182 


A  L  1  D  A 


they  >^itness  all  the  politeness,  refinement,  and 
hospitality  that  characterize  the  Americans. 

The  waters  of  the  different  springs  are  gene- 
rally drank,  but  baths  are  also  erected.  High 
Rock  spring  flows  from  a  white  conical  lime- 
stone rock,  five  feet  high.  The  water  is  seen  in 
this  spring  in  constant  agitation.  So  much 
fixed  air  escapes  from  it,  that  an  animal  held 
over  it,  as  in  the  Grotto  del  Car^,  near  Naples, 
cannot  live  above  half  a  minute. 


\ 


In  a  few  days  they  left  Saratoga  springs,  in  a 
convenient  stage,  to  go  to  Albany,  thirty-six 
miles  distant.  They  passed  through  a  disagree- 
able and  sandy  country.  The  uniformity  was, 
however,  very  pleasingly  interrupted  by  Sara- 
toga Lake,  which  is  eight  miles  long. 

At  the  small  town  of  Waterford  they  passed 
along  the  left  shore  of  the  Hudson  on  a  long 
wooden  bridge,  to  avoid  a  bad  bridge  over  the 
Mohawk.  They  proceeded  on  their  route  in 
the  night  on  a  very  good  road,  and  passed 
through  Lansingburgh  and  Troy.  The  latter 
is  very  handsomely  built,  and  many  stores  were 
very  well  lighted  up  in  the  evening.  Here 
they  returned  to  the  right  shore  of  the  Hudson, 
and  reached  Albany  at  ten  o'clock  at  night. 

At  eight  o'clock  next  morning  they  took 
p^sage  on  board  the  steam-boat,  to  go  up  the 


A  L  I  D  A. 


183 


river  as  ftir  as  the  town  of  Catskill,  at  the  foot 
of  Pine  Orcliard.  The  company  ascended  the 
mountain,  which  is  twelve  miles  high,  in  stages. 
They  reached  Pine  Orchard  a  little  before  sun- 
set. The  building  on  the  mountain  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  visiters,  is  a  splendid  est  iblish- 
raent.  Alida  was  truly  delighted  with  the 
landscape  it  presented  in  miniature ;  where  large 
farms  appeared  like  garden  spots,  and  the  Hud- 
son a  rivulet,  and  where  pometimes  the  clouds 
were  seen  floating  beneath  the  eye  of  the  spec- 
tator. 

The  next  morning  they  again  took  the  steam- 
boat at  Catskill  to  go  to  Hudson,  twenty ^seven 
and  a-half  miles  from  Albany,  which  they 
reached  about  noon.  This  city  appears  very 
handsome  and  lively.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river  is  Athens,  between  which  and  Hudson 
there  seems  to  be  much  communication  kept  up 
by  a  t«am-boat.  A  very  low  island  in  the  middle 
of  the  stream  between  the  two  places,  rendered 
this  communication  somewhat  difficult  at  first, 
as  vessels  were  obliged  to  make  a  great  circuit. 
To  avoid  this  inconvenience,  a  canal  was  cut 
through  the  island,  through  w  hich  the  team-boat 
now  passes  with  ease  and  rapidity. 

This  place  affords  a  very  fine  view  of  the  lofty 
Catskill  mountains.     They  left  the  city  of  Hud- 


:t  (I 


\ 


184 


A  L  I  D  A. 


son  in  the  afternoon,  and  arrived  at  West  Point 
at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  on  the  right  side  of 
the  Hudson,  and  landed  at  a  wharf  furnished 
with  a  sentry-box.  An  artillerist  stood  sentinel. 
They  were  obliged  to  ascend  a  somewhat  steep 
road  in  order  to  reach  the  house  which  is  pre- 
pared for  the  reception  of  strangers.  The  build- 
ing belongs  to  the  government,  and  is  designed 
for  the  mess-room  of  the  officers  and  cadets. 
The  purveyor  for  this  table  is  bound  by  contract^ 
with  government  to  keep  several  chambers  with 
beds  in  order  for  the  reception  of  the  relations  of 
the  cadets. 

The  morning  after  their  arrival,  the  gentlemen 
paid  an  early  visit  to  lieutenant-colonel  Thayer, 
superintendent  of  the  military  school,  and  were 
received  in  a  very  fiiendly  manner.  He  had  pre- 
sided over  this  school  several  years.  Colonel 
Thayer  has  entirely  remodelled  this  institution, 
and  very  much  improved  it. 

The  cadets,  whose  number  may  amount  to 
two  hundred  and  fifty,  are  divided  into  four 
classes  for  the  purposes  of  instruction.  They 
are  received  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and 
twenty,  and  must  undergo  an  examination  be- 
fore they  enter. 

Instruction  is  communicated  gratuitously  to 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


185 


the  cadeU,  each  of  whom  receives  monthly  eight 
dollars  from  government  as  wages. 

A  public  examination  of  the  cadets  takes 
place  every  year  at  the  end  of  June,  by  a  com- 
mission appointed  by  the  Secretary  of  War. 
This  commission  consists  of  statF  officers  from 
the  army  and  navy,  members  of  Congress,  gov- 
ernors of  states,  learned  men,  and  other  distin- 
guished citizens.  After  this  examination,  the 
best  among  those  who  have  finished  their  course 
are  appointed  as  officers  in  the  army. 

The  cadets  hve  in  two  large  massive  build- 
ings, three  stories  high,  and  are  divided  into  four 
companies.  The  institution  possesses  four 
principal  buildings.  The  two  largest  serve  as 
barracks  for  the  cadets,  a  third  contains  the  mess- 
room,  and  the  fourth  the  church.  A  large  level 
space,  consisting  of  several  acres,  lies  in  front  of 
the  buildings,  forming  a  peninsula,  and  com- 
manding the  navigation  of  the  Hudson,  above 
which  it  is  elevated  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight  feet.  Towards  the  river  it  is  surrounded 
by  steep  rocks,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  ascend, 
unless  by  ihe  usual  way. 

The  party  now  ascended  the  rocky  mountain^ 
on  which  are  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of  Fort  Put- 
nam. The  way  led  through  a  handsome  forest 
of  oak,  beech,  chestnut  and  walnut  trees.    The 

16* 


186 


AL  X  D  A. 


fort  occupying  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  waf 
erected  in  an  indented  form,  of  strong  granite^ 
and  is  altogether  inaccessible  on  the  side  next 
the  enemy.  It  had  but  a  single  entrance,  with 
very  strong  casemates.  It  was  built  on  private 
property  during  the  revolution ;  the  owner  of  the 
ground  claimed  it,  and  government  were  obliged 
to  restore  it.  The  government  afterwards  ac- 
quired the  ground  on  which  West  Point  stands, 
as  well  as  the  adjoining  heights.  v    \ 

A  very  fine  view  one-  may  have  from  Fort 
Putnam  of  the  plains  of  West  Point  and  of  the 
Hudson  river.  The  view  to  the  north  is  particu' 
larly  handsome,  in  which  direction  Newburgh, 
lying  on  the  river,  is  seen  in  the  back  ground. 

A  band  of  music,  paid  by  the  government, 
belongs  exclusively  to  the  cadets,  and  is  said  to 
afford  the  best  military  music  in  the  United 
States. 

The  party  generally  regretted  leaving  this 
agreeable  place,  where  they  had  been  highly 
gratified  during  their  short  stay.  They  took 
passage  on  board  the  steam-boat  Constitution, 
bound  to  New- York,  sixty  miles  distant. 

They  were  now  again  on  their  way  to  one  of 
the  most  flourishing  cities  in  the  United  States, 
which  attracts  a  great  part  of  the  commerce  of 
the  American  nation.    They  came  into  the 


A' 


A  L  I  DA. 


187 


Ticinity  about  sunset,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening  they  landed  in  New- York.  Leaving 
their  friends  in  the  city,  Albert  and  his  sister  took 
passage  in  a  stage-coach  next  morning,  and 
journeyed  in  a  short  time  as  far  as  the  village  of 
,  and  from  thence  proceeded  on  to  the  resi- 
dence of  their  father. 


•-■'  ^'■i'-,^ 


■;'.iv"',''>.^ 


'i  r 


:   I.  .   .,  1..-.I 


li 

I' 

V 


188 


A  L  I  D  A 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


Ah  !  now  again  all  my  sensations  move  to  see  a  parent,  and  I 
Bigh  once  more  to  meet  the  kind  caresses  of  a  father— and  weeks 
seem  ages  in  this  separation. 

The  feelings  of  Alida  were  those  of  bound- 
less  joy  to  meet  again  her  parents,  after  an  ab- 
sence from  them  which  appeared  long  to  her. 

She  was  grieved  to  find  her  father  had  suf- 
fered much  from  indisposition  during  herabsence. 
She  endeavoured  in  vain,  by  every  soothing  at- 
tention, to  recall  him  again  to  health  and  happi- 
ness. His  malady  increased  daily,  and  he 
became  a  prey  to  infirmities,  which  at  length 
confined  him  to  his  room. 

The  gladsome  sensations  of  Albert  were 
changed  soon  to  those  of  melancholy,  when  he 
saw  that  his  father  was  affected  with  a  serious 
illness,  and  dejection  supplied  the  place  of  more 
happy  and  animated  feeUngs. 

Alida,  for  several  weeks,  scarce  left  the  apart- 
ment. One  morning  she  perceived  that  he  had 
altered  very  materially  for  the  worse.  It  was 
only  at  intervals  he  could  converse  with  her,  and 
then  his  conversation  was  calculated  to  give  her 
fortitude  and  resignation,  and  prepare  her  mind 
for  an  approaching  melancholy  event,  which, 


A  L  I  D  A. 


189 


whenever  she  received  the  least  bint  of,  her  grief 
was  inexpressible. 

Her  father  observed  her  emotion.  <*  AHda,  my 
dear  child,"  said  he,  '^  do  not  be  alarmed,  as  1  ap- 
pear much  worse  than  I  am  in  reality  at  present;" 
but  she  had  drawn  these  words  from  the  physi> 
clan  that  morning,  that  his  malady  had  in- 
creased greatly  since  the  day  before.  Perceiving 
a  visible  change  in  his  appearance,  she  scarcely 
left  the  room  of  her  father  till  a  late  hour,  when 
he,  perceiving  her  almost  fainting  with  fatigue, 
requested  her  to  retire  to  rest.  Albert  supplied 
the  place  of  his  sister,  and  remained  with  his 
father,  while  the  affectionate  care  of  his  only 
surviving  son  was  grateful  to  the  bosom  of  a 
fond  parent. 

The  slumbers  of  Alida  were  broken,  and 
fearing  to  leave  her  father  too  long,  she  arose 
very  early  next  morning  to  attend  him.  He  was 
•"evidently  much  worse  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  and  intimated  that  he  wished  all  the 
family  sent  for.  He  then  requested  Alida  to 
read  some  passages  in  the  bible,  as  was  his  daily 
custom. 

*<  ^  Leave  thy  fatherless  children  to  me  and  I 
will  be  their  father,'  what  words  of  consolation 
are  these,"  said  he,  ^'  what  transport  do  they 
convey  to  the  heart  of  a  parent,  burthened  with 


h 


M^1« 


190 


A  L  I   DA. 


anxiety.  Yes,  divine  Disposer,"  he  exclaimed, 
**  1  will,  with  grateful  joy,  commit  my  children 
to  thy  kind  care  and  protection." 

When  the  physician  made  his  morning  visit, 
as  he  was  going  to  take  leave,  Alida  asked  his 
opinion.  He  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  to  give 
no  hopes  of  recovery. 

Her  father  requested  her  to  be  seated  by  the 
bed-side.  "  My  child,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  to  dis- 
course a  little  with  you.  And  could  I  again  see^ 
Theodore,  how  gladly  would  I  now  receive  him. 
I  have  deeply  injured  him,"  said  he,  "  and  my 
child  too  ;  and  have  inflicted  a  wound  still  deeper 
in  my  own  bosom.  I  have  often  considered  his 
piety  and  worth.  His  moral  character  was  all 
that  it  should  be.  Superfluous  wealth  is  not 
necessary  to  ensure  earthly  felicity,  but  a  com- 
petency and  contentment  therewith,  is  all  that 
is  necessary  to  happiness." 

*'  Do  not  renew  your  sorrows,  ^ear  father," 
said  Alida,  "  what  is  past  is  beyond  recall.  Let 
us  confide  in  a  just  over-ruling  Providence,  that 
disposes  all  material  events  for  the  wisest  pur- 
poses." Her  tears  flowed  in  abundance,  as  fier 
looks  rested  upon  the  visage  of  her  father,  and 
deep  distress  was  depicted  in  her  countenance. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  her  father,  "  weep  not 
for  me,  think  that  rest  must  now  be  acceptable 


A  L  f  D  A. 


191 


to  the  weary  traveller,  whose  hopes  are  centred 
in  the  Redeemer,  (as  the  only  name  under 
Heaven,  whereby  we  can  be  saved,)  and  can 
leave  the  world  in  the  joyful  anticipation  of  re- 
ceiving those  inestimable  blessings,  in  a  life  to 
come,  which  the  Gospel  promises  to  every  true 
believer."  ;  ?     : 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  he 
sunk  almost  senseless  upon  his  pillow.  The 
greater  part  of  the  family  now  assembled  round 
him.  The  physician  came  and  gave  no  hopes 
of  recovery.  He  faithfully  watched  over  him 
the  whole  evening  and  a  part  of  the  night,  and 
about  twelve  o'clock  his  family  had  the  sorrow 
and  misfortune  to  witness  the  distressful  and 
trying  scene.     Their  father  was  no  more. 

The  distress,  fatigue  and  agitation  of  Alida, 
could  no  longer  be  borne  with,  and  for  many 
weeks  she  was  confined  to  her  room.  The  loss 
of  her  parent  and  the  terminating  scene,  had  left 
her  in  deep  affliction :  all  repose  seemed  fled 
forever,  and  bitter  anguish  had  succeeded,  and 
taken  up  its  residence  in  her  bosom.  Reflections 
rose  in  her  mind  continually,  that  her  situation 
had  been  heretofore  comparatively  happy,  to 
what  it  at  present  afibrded.  An  illness  of  short 
duration  had  suddenly  deprived  her  of  a  very 
dear  father,  and  she  now  xlt  herself  a  lonely, 
dejected  orphan. 


; 


i^: 


193 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


Could  I  trace  back  the  time,  a  distant  date,  since  my  fore-fathen 
traversed  these  fields,  and  held  possession  of  this  wide  domain. 

The  melancholy  event  had  taken  place,  and 
Albert  had  lost  his  father.  His  heavy  and  heart- 
felt affliction  could  not  at  this  time  be  alleviated, 
and  his  mind  was  involved  in  gloom  and  sad- 
ness, which  he  endeavoured  in  vain  to  dissipate. 

He  was  now  deprived  of  the  kind  hand  of  a 
parent,  who  had  used  his  endeavours  to  lead  him 
in  the  way  he  should  go,  from  his  infancy :  and 
assisted  him  with  a  kindly  advice,  and  supplied 
him  with  a  timely  experience  :  and  in  the  wis- 
dom of  whose  salutary  council,  he  could  now  no 
longer  repose. 

He  felt  himself  deprived  of  this  kind  assistant, 
whose  precepts  had  been  his  guide  ever  since  the 
first  dawning  irradiations  of  reason  had  began 
to  appear,  to  enlighten  his  mind,  and  with  the 
eye  of  vigilance  watched  over  him,  endeavouring 
to  trace  out  his  good  or  evil  propensities,  and  to 
point  to  the  partioislar  advantages  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  baneful  effects  on  the  other,  and 
to  train  his  ideas  to  whatever  was  most  commend- 
able, and  praiseworthy.  \ 

Albert  had  ever  evinced  a  disposition  pleat 'iifj 


A  L  1  D  A* 


193 


to  parental  hopes  and  wishes,  and  flattering  to  a 
fond  father's  most  sanguine  anticipations.  He 
was  ever  cheerful  in  complying  with  whatever 
he  considered  his  duty,  and  conformable  to  the 
will  of  his  interested  parent. 

He  now  revolved  in  his  mind,  and  reflected 
what  had  heretofore  been  his  particular  wishes. 
It  had  long  been  the  wish  of  his  parent,  that  he 
should  close  his  business  in  New- York,  and 
settle  himself  on  the  paternal  estate.  He  there- 
fore was  diligent  in  his  endeavours  to  do  this,  as 
soon  as  his  spirits  would,  in  any-wise  allow  him 
to  attend  to  these  affairs,  and  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  ensuing  spring,  he  happily  termi- 
nated his  business  in  the  city,  and  returned  to 
the  country.  -■      • 

The  remembrance  of  his  father  for  a  long  in  • 
terval  of  time  was  in  every  object  around  and 
about  the  mansion,  in  which  he  was  established, 
and  reminded  him  of  his  bereavement,  and  he 
was  affected  with  sorrowful  meditations,  and  a 
borrowed  serenity  was  manifested  in  his  ap- 
pearance. 

He  reflected  on  his  present  condition, — he 
would  say,  how  desultory  is  the  happiness  of 
man,  he  lays  plans  of  permanent  felicity,  when 
the  whirlwind  of  affliction  arrives,  and  destroys 
the  towering  edifice  of  creative  hope,  and  his 


.-3  '. 


■i' 


-  IT 


'* 


194 


A  L  I  D  A 


schemes  of  contentment  are  changed  to  dis- 
appointment and  wo. 

He  had  taken  possession  of  the  paternal  estate, 
which  had  for  some  years  been  the  wish  of  his 
father.  Like  him  he  was  fond  of  rural  plea- 
sures and  amusements,  and  to  dissipate  care 
amid  tiie  diversified  scenes  of  rural  life,  afforded 
him  satisfaction  and  pleasure. 

To  contemplate  the  inimitable  works  of  Crea- 
tion, was  to  him  no  less  pleasing  thiin  instruc- 
tive. Where  so  many  objects  arrest  the  atten- 
tion, and  afford  abundance  of  entertainment, 
equally  calculated  to  raise  in  the  human  breast 
the  most  unfeigned  offerings  of  wonder,  gratitude 
and  praise  to  the  great  Dispenser  of  benefits  to 
mankind,  and  the  Author  of  universal  existence. 

The  magnificence  of  the  celestial,  and  the 
curiosity  and  variety  of  the  vegetable  world,  that 
have  prof»erties  which,  if  accurately  seen,  yield 
inconceivable  astonishment  to  the  eye  of  the  be- 
holder, and  confess  alike  the  happy  influence  of 
the  Deity.  It  charms  in  all  the  genial  warmth 
and  softness  of  spring,  wherv  the  earth  teems 
with  a  matchless  splendour,  when  its  green 
hues  and  universal  verdure  come  forth  in  all  their 
pristine  elegance  and  enchanting  attractions, 
which  constantly  afforded    the  contemplative 


'/ 


A  L  I  D  A  . 


195 


mind  of  Albert,  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  enter- 
taining and  useful  lessons. 

In  the  meantime  his  new  station  in  life  called 
him  to  new  responsibilities,  and  a  new  field  of 
action,  unknown  to  him  before,  presented  itself, 
wherein  he  must  act  in  many  diflerent  capaci- 
ties. He  was  naturally  of  a  domestic  turn  of 
mind,  and  had  always  declined  entering  into  the 
constant  routine  of  engagements,  to  which  the 
most  part  of  the  fashionable  world,  more  or  less, 
subject  themselves.  He  avoided  all  excess  and 
extravagance,  in  every  respect,  in  which  people 
of  this  description  lose  the  greater  part  of  their 
time.  He  was  extremely  fond  of  walking,  as 
he  considered  gentle  exercise  the  best  medicine 
of  life,  and  he  passed  much  of  his  time  in  stroll- 
ing over  the  fields  or  in  the  forest  glen,  amid 
the  green  wood  shade,  wrapped  up  in  solitary 
reflection. 

When  the  sun  was  gilding  the  western  hemis- 
phere, and  the  day  shone  in  all  the  mildness  of 
the  season,  enveloped  in  serious  thought  and 
revery,  Albert  walked  forth  among  the  sur- 
rounding shades.  "  Happy,  ye  freeborn  sons 
of  Columbia,"  said  he,  ^Uiberty  and  plenty 
now  bless  your  domestic  retirements, — War,  de- 
vastation and  wide-wasting  rapine  have  fled  your 
peaceful  shores.     No  dread  of  destruction  to  dig-Li*t 


I 


i 


t^ 


! 


,  i 


!l 


H' 


I 


< 


190 


A  L  I  D  A. 


your  uninterrapted  tranquillity ;  the  exercise  of 
laudable  industry  can  again  bring  home  to  each 
family  competency  and  repose."  The  clear 
cerulean  sky  added  a  soft  beauty  to  the  adjacent 
landscapes,  as  he  listlessly  wandered  along  the 
beach.  The  idle  murmuring  of  the  waves  upon 
the  sandy  shore,  the  confused  gabbling  of  the 
water-fowl,  and  the  near  view  of  the  full-spread 
vessel  majestically  advancing  over  the  white- 
capped  billows,  that  advanced  and  receded  in 
gentle  monotony,  tended  to  soothe  the  lone 
bosom  to  calmness  and  quietude. 

The  day  ended,  and  calm  evening  drew  on. 
The  silver  rays  of  the  full-orbed  moon  shed  a 
majesty  on  each  surrounding  object.  The  scene 
appeared  in  solemn  grandeur ;  the  dusky  forest 
reflected  a  yellow  radiance;  and  the  roUing 
wonders  of  the  heavens  glittered  o^er  the  head, 
while  awful  stillness  reigned,  interrupted  only 
by  the  strains  of  the  night-bird,  whose  melodious 
notes  served  to  soothe  the  heart  to  harmony. 

Albert  returned  home  with  a  leisurely  step, 
his  feelings  were  raised  in  devotional  gratitude 
to  that  beneficent  Being,  on  whom  we  depend 
for  every  present  and  future  felicity,  and  who 
had  surroundod  us  with  so  many  blessings,  that 
conspire  to  compose  the  mind  to  calmness  and 
serenity.  _  - 


A  L  I  D  A. 


197 


■>V 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


Ceux  qui  ne  sont  gensi  de  bien  qu'en  apparcnce— sont  obliges  do 
se  contraindre,  beaucoup,  ct  de  gardet  de  grandes  mosurcs,  atin 
de  passer  pour  se  qu'ils  ne  sont  pas. 

Alida  ruminated  on  her  lonely  situation.  She 
reflected  on  former  days,  and  the  many  happy 
hours  that  had  gone  by  forever,  when  the  roses 
of  health  had  arrayed  her  cheeks,  and  gay 
thought  had  filled  her  fancy,  and  every  object 
was  decked  with  the  charms  of  fascination,  when 
her  heart  was  unacquainted  with  sorrow,  and 
experienced  serenity  and  happiness  without  al- 
loy. She  deplored  the  loss  of  a  kind  father  ;  in 
him  she  was  deprived  of  a  friend,  who  could 
never  be  again  supplied  to  her,  and  in  whose  so- 
ciety her  mind  was  in  a  constant  progressive 
state  of  improvement.  His  filial  aflfection,  his 
kindness,  his  watchful  endeavours  for  her  wel- 
fare, were  evinced  by  a  careful  anxiety  and  pains 
to  enlighten  her  mind  with  those  qualities  and 
acquirements,  ih^t  would  be  most  conducive  to 
enlarge  her  sphere  of  usefulness  in  life,  and  fur- 
nish her  with  the  means  of  rational  pleasure, 
and  to  blend  with  her  personal  appearance  the 
more  fascinating  charms  of  a  well  improved  un- 
derstanding. .  .      . 

17* 


.ii 


I 

■4 


[^ 


ffi 


i; 


\ 


I   I 


198 


A  L  X  D  A. 


She  mourned  his  loss  at  a  residence  where 
every  object  recalled  him  continually  to  her  re- 
membrance. She  was  wholly  absorbed  in  me- 
lancholy, and  amid  these  sad  ideas,  that  agitated 
her  bosom  alternately,  Bonville  arrived  from  the 
neighbouring  village,  and  her  attention  was  for 
a  time  diverted,  and  sh^^  was  delivered  from  a 
train  of  painful  reflection?*.  Her  brother  had  a 
long  conversation  with  him  respecting  Theodore, 
and  wondered  how  it  happened  that  his  friend 
Raymond  had  never  received  any  intelligence 
from  him. 

Bonville  seemed  much  embanassed  at  these 
observations  of  Albert,  and  it  was  some  length 
of  time  before  he  made  any  reply.  Then  biting 
his  lips,  and  putting  on  an  air  of  displeasure,  he 
said  that  he  had  actually  thought  of  going  to 
England  himself,  to  trace  him  out,  and  ascer- 
tain the  cause  of  his  strange  conduct.  Then 
assuming  a  look  of  insignificance,  accompanied 
with  several  speeches  in  double  entendre,  he  re- 
mained in  sullen  silence. 

The  conduct  of  Theodore  certainly,  thought 
Alida,  is  mysterious  and  singular,  and  his  long 
silence  is  truly  unaccountable,  and  the  idea  of 
ever  meeting  him  again  with  these  different  im- 
pressions, that  at  present  bore  sway  over  her 
mind,  agitated  her  greatly.    In  happier  days 


1 


A  I  I  D  A. 


199 


when  her  hopes  had  rested  on  Theodore  in  full 
confidence,  she  thought  herself  sufficiently  strong 
to  bear  every  other  evil,  but  to  *"*;  assured  of  his 
inconstancy,  was  an  idea  she  could  scarcely 
endure.  ,  « 

Although  Albeit  might  decidedly  be  called  a 
person  of  discernment,  still  he  had  not  yet  fully 
discovered  the  deceptive  powers  of  Bonville, 
whose  many  evil  propensities  were  in  a  manner 
concealed,  by  a  condescending  courtesy  and  affa- 
bility ;  though  his  mind  inherited  ill-nature  and 
sarcasm  in  the  extreme.  ?•■     5 

The  sprightliness  of  his  manners,  mingled 
with  a  certain  degree  of  humour  and  generous 
sentiments,  occasionally  mingling  with  his  dis- 
course, threw  a  veil  over  his  imperfections,  and 
excited  one's  admiration. 

,  Albert  thought  him  ungenerous  for  many 
scandalous  assertions  concerning  Theodore,  and 
he  still  hoped  he  might  again  arrive  on  his  na- 
tive shores,  and  be  able  to  answer  all  suggestions 
to  his  disadvantage. 

Alida  had  never  discerned  his  real  character, 
therefore  she  repsed  full  confidence  in  all  he 
said.  His  behaviour  to  her  was  respectful,  and 
bis  exterior  extremely  prepossessing.  He  ap- 
peared to  her  all  goodness  and  benevolence,  and 


i  1 


i^'i-f 


if 


I 


1 1 


200 


A  L  1  D  A 


ever  expressed  the  most  generous  sentiments  to- 
wards those  he  pretended  to  censure. 

These  deceitful  appearances  were  joined  with 
a  semblance  of  piety  ;  and  he  could  at  any  time 
make  himself  appear  to  advantage,  by  the  dis- 
play of  a  variety  of  superficial  knowledge.  He 
was  proud  to  excess,  as  if  he  really  possessed 
qualities  to  be  proud  of.  One  would  scarcely 
suppose  that  such  a  person  could  be  capable  of 
true  attachment,  but  so  it  certainly  was ;  that 
knowing  the  many  imperfections  of  his  own  na- 
ture, caused  him  more  deeply  to  revere  the  op- 
posite qualities  in  Alida,  and  the  idea  of  shortly 
gaining  her  hand,  carried  his  senses  to  such  a 
pitch  of  enthusiasm,  that  it  would  not  be  thought 
strange  to  suppose,  that  the  disappointment  of 
his  pride  would  overwhelm  him  with  lasting 
dismay. 

The  superior  excellence  of  Theodore  furnish- 
ed a  mark  for  the  calumny  of  Bon  ville,  supposing 
his  own  success  depended  on  the  disparagement 
of  the  other.  Thus  envy  is  usually  led  to  as- 
pense  what  it  cannot  imitate ;  and  the  little  mind 
scandalizes  the  pre-eminence  of  its  neighbour, 
and  endeavours  to  depreciate  the  good  qualities 
that  it  cannot  attain  to. 

Thus;  the  distempered  eye  is  impatient  of  pre- 
vailing brightness,  and  by  attempting  to  observe 


A  L  I  D  A. 


201 


the  lucid  object,  inadvertently  betrays  its  own 
weakness ;  and  persons  of  their  unhappy  com- 
plexion, regard  all  praises  conferred  upon  an- 
other, as  derogatory  from  their  own  value.  And 
a  person  without  merit  may  Hve  without  envy ; 
but  who  would  wish  to  escape  it  on  these  terms. 


•  V     '■  '■  - 


•*"'       '    ■'''•,.;  v:H-^-'r: 


'  (  ; 


>( 


■^y,  -    -    <  ■).? 


"j: 


202 


A  L  IDA. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


u 


May  he  again  return,  and  with  him  bring 
A  soft  serenity  on  pleasure's  wing ; 
While  anxious  fears,  and  doubt,  shall  disappear, 
The  heavy  mists  of  gloomy  thought  to  clear. 

The  scenes  of  solitude  were  now  more  pleas- 
ing to  Alida  than  ever.  She  loved  to  wander 
through  the  shady  grove  and  lonely  valley,  and 
adapt  their  retirement  to  her  own  particular 
situation.  She  would  often  stray  as  far  as  the 
cottage  or  the  farm-house,  at  a  little  distance, 
and  would  sometimes  take  the  winding  path 
through  a  beautiful  piece  of  wood  which  led  to 
Raymond's,  v/here  the  thick  foliage  formed  a 
grateful  shade. 

There  she  would  indulge  herself  in  solitary 
thought.  "  How  changeable  are  all  things  ter- 
restrial," said  she,  "  the  varied  year  has  its  sea- 
sons, and  winter  and  summer  are  constantly  in 
pursuit  of  each  other.  The  elements  are  fre- 
quently disturbed  by  storms  and  tempests,  so,  in 
like  manner,  is  the  human  breast  at  intervals 
troubled  and  discomposed,  and  often  remains 
overshadowed  with  pensive  sadness  and  cheerless 
reverie  ;  and  these  desponding  ideas  must  con- 
tinue to  have  influence  over  the  mind,  till  the 
sunshine  of  reason  and  religion  kindly  dispell 


•■    Ij 


A  L  I  D  A. 


203 


the  gloom,  and  awakens  anew  the  feelings  of 
the  heart  to  the  rays  of  hope  and  more  enlivening 
sensations."  She  had  just  returned  home  one 
afternoon  from  Raymond's,  when  her  brother, 
who  had  been  absent  on  business  to  the  city, 
drove  up  the  avenue,  accompanied  by  Mr.  More. 

Albert  informed  his  sister  of  the  arrival  of 
Theodore.  She  almost  fainted  at  the  intelligence, 
so  unexpected :  and  although  she  wished  of  all 
things,  to  learn  all  the  circumstances  attending 
his  absence,  yet  she  dreaded  the  event,  to  behold 
him  again,  fearing  the  truth  of  Bonville's  sug- 
gestions. 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  and  fears, 
Theodore  alighted  at  the  house,  and  was  shown 
by  the  servant  into  the  drawing-room.  ' 

Theodore  regardless  of  all  around  him,  as  soon 
as  he  beheld  Alida,  he  grasped  her  hand  ex- 
claiming with  rapture,  '*  Has  the  period  at  length 
arrived,  and  am  I  indeed  once  more  so  happy  as 
to  meet  again  my  much-esteemed  and  long-lost 
friend."  f 

Alida  gazed  on  him  in  silence  He  saw  her 
extreme  agitation,  and  after  they  were  seated, 
he  observed  more  particularly  her  altered  ap- 
pearance. What  surprise  and  grief  was  manifest 
in  his  countenance,  when  he  saw  the  paleness 
of  her  cheek,  and  the  roses  that  once  spread  their 


204 


A  L  I  D  A 


healthy  hue  over  them,  now  seemed  fled  forever. 
In  a  length  of  time  she  became  somewhat  more 
composed,  but  in  what  hght  to  consider  Theo- 
dore, she  yet  did  not  know,  and  former  ideas  still 
clouded  her  imagination. 

At  length  she  assumed  sufficient  courage,  to 
ask  him,  why  he  had  not  theught  proper  to  in- 
form any  of  his  friends  of  the  circumstances  at- 
tending his  absence. 

Theodore  could  scarcely  remain  silent  while 
Alida  was  speaking ;  he  was  surprised  beyond 
all  description  at  what  he  heard.  "  Can  it  be 
possible,"  said  he,  *'that  you  have  missed  of  in- 
formation concerning  me,  when  I  delayed  not  to 
inform  you  of  all  my  movements,  every  oppor- 
tunity I  had  to  convey  intelligence."  He  then 
informed  her  that  the  letters  had  been  sent  to 
Raymond,  and  those  for  herself  were  inclosed, 
and  committed  to  his  care ;  and  through  this 
channel,  he  had  related  minutely  all  the  various 
trials  and  circumstances,  attending  his  unexpect- 
ed journey,  and  the  cause  of  his  protracted  stay. 
Alida  was  evidently  convinced,  and  appeared 
again  assured  of  the  truth  of  her  lover.  The 
energy  with  which  he  gpoke,  his  agitated  feel- 
ings, joined  to  the  distress  visible  in  his  counte- 
nance, convinced  her  of  his  sincerity,  at  least 
caused  her  to  doubt,  what  a  few  moments  before 


A  L  I  D  A. 


205 


appeared  so  incohtestible  :  and  her  present  hap- 
piness fully  compensated  for  the  lengthy  period 
of  distress  and  anxiety  she  had  experienced. 

Albert  was  delighted  at  the  return  of  Theo- 
dore, and  highly  gratified  in  his  hopes,  to  find 
in  his  early  friend,  still  the  man  of  honour  he 
had  ever  considered  him.  He  had  never  once 
mentioned  his  name  to  Alida  during  tiieir  sepa- 
ration ;  although  his  thoughts  often  revolved  on 
the  unhappy  result  of  their  acquaintance,  and 
the  future  welfare  of  his  sister.  '■ 

Mr.  More  was  a  silent  spectator  of  this  joyful 
meeting.  He  now  beheld  the  person  who  had 
been  so  happy  as  to  win  the  esteem  and  affec- 
tions of  Alida,  a  person  that  he  had  heard  spoken 
of,  though  it  had  appeared  that  he  never  expect- 
ed to  see.  -      ' 

He  witnessed  the  happy  meeting.  Sighs  and 
tears  from  this  time  were  his  only  companions, 
while  his  aspect  pourtrayed  nought  but  anguish 
and  utter  despair.  He  loked  upon  this  happy 
pair  as  already  united.  He  shed  tears  of  evi- 
dent anguish,  when  he  took  leave  of  Alida,  and 
his  looks  told  her,  it  must  now  be  forever. 

The  evening  was  not  far  advanced,  when 
Bonville,  who  was  altogether  ignorant  of  Theo- 
dore's arrival,  unexpectedly  made  his  appearance. 
Struck  with  the  utmost  consternation  at  seeing 

18 


^iin 


.jii 


w 


i    ii 

Ail 


\K  < 


■•1^1 


206 


A  L  I  D  A 


him,  hft  involuntarily  receded  a  few  pa^'es,  then 
suddenly  advancing,  as  if  recollecting  himself, 
he  gave  him  his  hand  wit;i  seeming  cordiality. 
The  natural  politeness  and  civility  of  the  other 
supplied  the  place  of  a  more  cordial  reception. 

Ten  thousand  fears  at  once  agitated  the  bosom 
of  Bonville,  while  he  appeared  half  frantic  with 
grief  and  apprehension.  Dismay  threw  a  sud- 
den cloud  over  his  understanding :  he  was  con- 
fused in  the  extreme.  He  had  intercepted  all 
the  letters  of  Theodore  ;  he  secretly  reproached 
himself  for  his  treacherous  conduct. 

He  now  saw  the  termination  of  all  his  hopes. 
Disappointment  he  could  not  brook,  his  pride 
could  never  submit  to  it  with  any  degree  of  re- 
signation, and  the  bitterness  that  pervaded  his 
mind,  almost  bordered  on  phrenzy. 

His  conscience  reproved  him  for  reiterated  mis- 
representations and  calumnies  of  Theodore,  with 
which  he  had  harrassed  the  mind  of  Alida.  He 
knew  that  a  discovery  must  now  be  made  of  his 
perfidy,  and  on  his  return  home  to  the  village, 
he  was  confined  to  his  room  with  a  sudden  ill- 
ness, succeeded  by  a  dangerous  fever. 


V 


A  L  I  D  A 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


207 


n 


O,  time !  roll  on  thy  wheels,  and  bring  around  the  period,  when 
social  joy  shall  smile  before  me;  when  in  the  vernal  Jay  of  life,  or 
evening  serene,  I  grow  of  one  dear  object  more  and  more  enamour- 
ed ;  while  my  remembrance  swells  with  many  a  proof  of  interested 
friendship. 

The  present  situation  of  Albert  was  happily 
independent.  The  prolific  soil  of  the  estate,  on 
which  he  'ived,  furnished  him  with  an  ample 
abundance.  The  prospect  that  surrounded  him 
was  inimitably  beautiful,  and  the  pecuhar  ad- 
vantages of  his  eligible  situation,  was  the  admir- 
ation of  the  stranger  who  frequented  the  vicinity, 
or  resorted  in  the  summer  season  to  the  neigh- 
bouring village. 

Albert  had  descended  from  an  ancient  family, 
he  had  an  estate  to  preserve,  but  not  an  entailed 
one,  as  was  the  case  with  many  of  his  family, 
at  this  time  in  England. 

He  was  a  gentleman,  placid,  humane  and 
generous*,  altogether  unacquainted  with  that 
ambition  which  sacrifices  every  thing  to  the  de- 
sire of  fortune,  and  ihe  superfluous  splendour 
that  follows  in  her  train.  He  was  unacquainted 
with  love  too,  the  supreme  power  of  which  ab- 
sorbs and  concentrates  all  our  faculties  upon  one 
sole  object.     That  age  of  innocent  pleasure,  and 


V 


^  ■ 


T 


^!  i 


208 


A  li  I  D  A. 


ti  t 


of  confident  credu«Jity,  when  the  heart  is  yet  a 
novice,  and  follows  the  impulse  of  youthful  sensi- 
bility, and  bestows  itself  unreservedly  upon  the 
object  of  disinterested  affection ;  then,  surely, 
friendship  is  not  a  name.  Albert,  during  his 
abode  in  the  city,  had  associated  with  ladies  of 
rank,  beauty  and  accomplishments.  He  was  a 
general  favourite  among  ihem  ;  he  had  been 
fl^ittered,  courted  and  caressed,  but  none  had  the 
power  to  fix  his  attention.  Since  his  return  to 
the  country,  he  had  been  frequently  invited  to 
assemble  among  the  artless  villagers,  decorated 
in  their  own  native  beauty,  assisted  sometimes 
for  ornament  with  the  spoils  of  Flora.  Health, 
pleasure  and  naivette,  was  in  the  air  of  these 
charmers,  and  all  that  was  pleasing  to  win  his 
regard  and  esteem.  These  scenes  of  rural  plea- 
sure, these  social  parties,  were  adapted  to  his  taste. 
In  comparison  of  which  the  gay  assemblages 
of  the  city  had  been  formerly  uninteresting ; 
and  he  had  been  heard  to  say,  that  whenever 
his  mind  should  become  fixed,  his  choice  would 
be  some  lady,  who  resided  in  the  country.  ' 
•  Although  Albert  experienced  a  degree  of  hap- 
piness and  contentment,  unknown  to  many,  in 
his  present  situation,  yet  he  sometimes  felt  him- 
self very  lonely. 

Alida  was  anxious  that  her  brother  should 


A  L  I  D  A. 


209 


1 


his 


look  out  for  a  suitable  companion  ;  ..^^  if  he 
could  be  fortunate  enough  to  find  one  that  was 
amiable  and  sensible,  and  whose  actions  should 
be  under  the  influence  of  genuine  piety ;  one 
who  would  be  ambitious  to  preserve  domestic 
sunshine  by  the  goodness  and  equanimity  of  her 
disposition;  who  would  have  a  tear  for  distress, 
a  heart  for  friendship  and  love,  exerted  in  be- 
nevolence and  charity,  and  in  the  mean  time 
have  a  care  lo  the  good  order  and  arrangement 
of  domestic  duties  and  economy. 

Albert,  often  descanted  in  conversation  with  his 
friends,  on  the  general  neglect  of  female  educa- 
tion, which  consisted  of  a  few  trifling  embellish- 
ments, while  those  of  the  more  substantial  order 
were  left  out  of  the  question.  He  thought  that 
young  ladies  generally  were  not  sufficiently 
learned  in  the  solid  branches,  to  e rercise  their 
mental  powers  to  advantage,  or  to  be  agreeable, 
intelligent  companions. 

"  If  it  be  true,'*  said  he,  "  that  our  pleasures 
are  chiefly  of  a  comparative  or  reflected  ki«d, 
how  supreme  must  be  theirs,  who  continually 
reflect  on  each  other  the  portraitures  of  happi- 
ness, whose  amusements 


r 


f. 


pi  n 

1)1'  1  '■ 


■5i 


**  Though  varied  still,  are  still  the  same 
In  infinite  progressions." 


18^ 


210 


A  L  I  D  ▲ 


"How  tranquil  must  be  the  state  of  that  bosom, 
which  has,  as  it  were,  a  door  per|)etually  open  to 
the  reception  of  joy  or  departure  of  pain,  by  un- 
interrupted confidence  in,  and  sympathy  with, 
the  object  of  its  aflection  !  "  "  I  know  of  no  part 
of  the  single  life,"  said  Albert,  "  more  irksome 
than  the  privation  we  feel  by  it,  of  any  friendly 
breast  wherein  to  pour  our  delights,  or  from 
whence  to  extract  an  antidote  for  whatever  may 
chance  to  distress  us." 

"  The  mind  of  a  good  man  is  rather  commu- 
nicative, than  torpid.  If  so,  how  often  may  a 
person  of  even  the  best  principles,  expose  him- 
self to  very  disagreeable  sensations,  from  senti- 
ments inadvertently  dropped,  or  a  confidence  im- 
properly reposed.  What  but  silence  can  be  re- 
commended, since,  in  breaking  it  so  much  dan- 
ger is  incurred  among  those  who  are  little  inter- 
ested in  our  welfare  ?  A  good  heart,  it  is  true, 
need  not  fear  the  exposition  of  its  amiable  con- 
tents. But,  is  it  always  a  security  for  us,  that 
we  mean  v/ell,  when  our  expressions  are  liable 
to  be  misconstrued  by  such  as  appear  to  lay  in 
wait  only  to  pervert  them  to  some  ungenerous 
purpose?" 

"The  charms,  then,  of  social  life,  and  the 
sweets  of  domestic  conversation,  are  pre-emi- 
nent.    What  more  agreeable  than  the  converse 


A  L  I  D  A 


211 


of  an  intelligent,  amiable,  interesting  friend  ; 
and  who  more  intelligent  than  a  well  educated 
female  ?  What  more  engaging  than  gentleness 
and  sensibility  itself?  Or  what  friend  more  in- 
teresting, than  one  we  have  selected  from  the 
whole  world,  as  a  companion  in  every  vicissi- 
tudeoflife?" 

**  If  either  party  be  versed  in  music,  what  a 
tide  of  innocent  pleasure  must  it  prove,  to  be  able 
to  soothe  in  adversity,  to  humanize  in  prosperity, 
to  compose  in  jargon,  and  to  command  serenity 
in  every  situation  ?  How  charming  a  relaxation 
from  the  necessary  avocations  of  business  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  employments  at  home,  in  do- 
mestic affairs,  on  the  other  ?  And  as  a  finale  to 
chant  the  praises  of  the  Almighty  in  hymns  of 
praise  and  thanksgiving." 

Albert  had  lately  made  several  visits  at  some 
distance  from  home,  where  he  had  told  his  sister, 
were  several  young  ladies,  who  were  very  agree- 
able. Alida  did  not  think  this  of  any  impor- 
tance,  as  she  knew  her  brother  heretofore  had 
been  difficult  to  please.  She  was  one  day  rather 
surprised,  when  he  wished  her  to  accompany 
him  thither.  She  declined  the  invitation,  how- 
ever, not  thinking  he  wished  it  for  any  particu- 
lar reason. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  he  pressed  her 


V 

.  Ill 


I 

\ 


\\ 


n  i  w 


n 


if  ^ 


212 


A  L  I  D  A. 


again  to  go  with  him.  Alida  now  thought  she 
would  accompany  him,  if  it  was  only  out  of  cu- 
riosity. When  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  Al- 
bert's new  acquaintance,  several  ladies  were  in- 
troduced one  after  the  other,  and  Alida  soon 
found,  that  one  of  them  had  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  her  brother  particularly.  She  however 
thought  him  rather  premature,  as  he  had  so  re- 
cently become  acquainted  with  the  family.  On 
their  return  home  he  gave  her  to  understand, 
that  his  affections  were  engaged,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  few  months  she  was  called  on  to  at- 
tend their  nuptials. 

The  appearance  of  Eliza  was  interesting; 
sh^  was  tall  and  graceful.  Her  large  dark  hazel 
eyes  sparkled  beneath  a  beautiful  arched  eye- 
brow, and  her  transparent  complexion  was 
shaded  and  adorned  by  profuse  locks  of  dark 
brown  hair. 

In  the  meantime  Albert  appeared  perfectly 
happy,  that  he  had  at  length  found  a  fair  one  lO 
please  him,  and  shortly  after  he  returned  home 
with  his  bride,  with  sanguine  expectations  before 
him,  anticipating  much  future  happiness. 


^.. 


▲  L  I  D  ▲  . 


213 


ht  she 
t  of  cu- 
i  of  Al- 
rere  in- 
a  soon 

atlen- 
owever 
1  so  re- 
y.  On 
rstand, 

in  the 
1  to  at- 

esting ; 
t  hazel 
ed  eye- 
n  was 
)f  dark 

erfectly 

one  lo 

1  home 

)  before 

38. 


-        CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

*<  On  punit  plus  severement  un  ennemi  parle  mf  pris  «t  par  Toubli, 
que  par  les  chatimens  les  plus  rigorieux  :  c'est,  pour  ainsi  dire|  le 
reduLTe  au  ne&nU" 

The  disagreeable  facts  so  long  in  detail,  had 
now  taken  a  new  turn  for  the  better,  and  Theo- 
dore and  Alida  were  again  in  possession  of  more 
than  former  felicity,  after  their  long  separation. 
Alida  soon  began  to  recover  in  some  degree  her 
native  cheerfulness,  soothing  the  bosom  of  her 
lover  with  her  grief-dispersing  smile.  The  un- 
pleasant fears  that  had  such  a  length  of  time 
harrassed  her  mind,  were  now  happily  ter- 
minated by  the  return  of  Theodore  and  the 
clearing  up  of  all  doubts  and  suspicions  con- 
cerning him,  to  the  utter  confusion  of  Bonville. 
All  her  corroding  anxieties  were  now  removed, 
and  recent  events  had  made  her  happy  in  com- 
parison to  what  she  was  a  few  weeks  before,  and 
her  present  consolation  fully  compensated  for  all 
the  preceding  months  of  unhappiness. 

Theodore  was  again  happy  in  the  society  of 
Alida,  the  pensive  sweetness  of  her  manner, 
her  innate  goodness,  and  amiability,  which  had 
attracted  and  secured  the  early  affections  of  his 
heart,  and  made  impressions  that  could  never  be 


214 


A  f .  I  D  A  . 


obliterated.  He  gave  her  a  minute  account  of 
all  that  had  happened,  from  the  time  they  had 
parted  until  they  had  met  again. 

He  had  visited  the  merchants  in  England 
with  whom  his  father  had  been  concerned  in 
business,  and  he  found  as  he  expected,  that  he 
had  been  over-reached  by  swindlers  and  sharp- 
ers. The  pretended  failure  of  the  merchants 
with  whom  he  was  in  company,  was  all  a  sham, 
as,  also,  the  reported  loss  of  the  ships  in  their 
employ.  The  merchants  had  fled  to  England ; 
he  had  them  arrested,  and  they  had  given  up 
their  effects  to  much  more  than  the  amount  of 
their  debts.  He  therefore  procured  a  reversion 
of  his  father's  losses,  with  costs,  damages  and 
interests,  when  legally  stated. 

Theodore  then  made  his  next  visit  to  Ray- 
mond's. His  friends  were  joyfully  surprised  at 
his  arrival.  He  stayed  the  night  and  related  a 
long  narrative  to  his  friend.  Early  next  day  he 
proceeded  from  thence  to  his  father's  house, 
where  he  arrived  after  a  considerable  journey, 
Theodore  found  his  [)arents  more  happy  than  he 
expected.  With  abundant  joy  they  welcomed 
him  whom  they  had  given  up  for  lost. 

Theodore  then  related  to  his  father  all  the  in- 
cidents that  had  happened  in  England,  minutely 
particularizing  his  conduct  with  regard  to  the 


f 


A  L  I  D  A 


215 


!ii 


merchants  with  whom  his  father  had  been  con- 
nected, and  then  presented  him  with  the  rever- 
sion of  the  estate. 

The  old  gentleman  fell  on  his  knees,  and  with 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  offered  devout 
thanks  to  the  great  Dispenser  of  all  mercies. 

In  the  meantime,  the  illness  of  Bonville  had 
increased  to  an  alarming  degree.  He  sent  for 
Theodore.  He  thought  it  his  duty  to  attend  the 
summons.  When  he  arrived  at  the  house  of 
Bonville  he  was  shown  immediately  into  his 
apartment.  He  was  surprised  to  see  him  stretched 
on  a  mattrass,  his  visage  pale  and  emaciated, 
his  countenance  haggard,  his  eyes  inexpressive 
and  glaring.  He  held  out  his  hand  and  feebly 
beckoned  to  Theodore,  who  immediately  ap- 
proached the  bed-side. 

"  You  behold  me,  Theodore,"  said  he,  ^^  on  the 
verge  of  eternity.  I  have  but  a  short  time  to 
continue  in  this  world."  He  evidently  appeared 
to  have  suffered  much  from  the  remembrance  of 
his  ungenerous  conduct  towards  Theodore. 

'^  I  have  caused  much  unhappiness  between 
you  and  your  Alida,**  said  Bonville,  "  to  which 
you  will  scarcely  think  it  possible  that  I  was  de- 
signedly accessory."  He  then  confessed  to  The- 
odore that  he  had  intercepted  his  letters,  and 
begged  his  forgiveness.     "I  could  say   much 


/ 


h 


/ 


216 


A  L  I  D  ▲. 


more  on  the  subject  would  my  strength  admit," 
said  he,  ''  but  it  is  needless."  Here  Bonville 
ceased.  Theodore  found  he  wanted  rest ;  medi- 
cal aid  had  been  applied  but  without  effect. 
Theodore  then  left  him,  promising  to  call  again 
next  morning. 

He  was  startled  at  the  confession  of  Bonville ; 
he  felt  at  first  indignant,  and  meditated  what 
course  to  pursue.  After  due  reflection,  he  at 
length  made  the  decision. 

His  devotion  to  Alida  he  did  not  wonder  at. 
The  pride  of  parental  attachment  and  nature 
had  graced  her  with  every  charm  and  accom- 
plishment. He  at  length  determined  to  cast  a 
veil  of  pity  over  the  actions  of  Bonville,  and  not 
to  upbraid  him,  but  to  treat  his  past  conduct 
with  silent  contempt,  and  endeavour  as  far  as 
possible,  to  bury  the  remembrance  of  his  errors 
in  oblivion.  He  called  to  see  him  next  morning ; 
he  perceived  an  alarming  alteration  in  his  ap- 
pearance. He  was  cold — a  chilling  sweat  stood 
upon  his  face,  his  respiration  was  short  and  in- 
terrupted, his  pulse  weak  and  intermitting.  He 
took  the  hand  of  Theodore  and  feebly  pressed 
it.  He  soon  fell  into  a  stupor  ;  sensation  became 
suspended.  Sometimes  a  partial  revival  would 
take  place,  when  he  would  fall  into  incoherent 
muttering,  calling  on  the  names  of  his  deceased 


A  L  I  D  A. 


217 


father,  his  mother,  and  Alida.  Towards  night 
he  lay  silent,  and  only  continued  to  breathe  with 
difficulty,  when  a  slight  convulsion  gave  his 
freed  spirit  to  the  unknown  regions  of  existence. 
Theodore  attended  his  funeral,  and  then  jour- 
neyed on  to  the  dwelling  of  Albert.  He  in- 
formed Alida  of  the  death  of  Bonville,  and  of 
his  confession. 

At  the  mention  of  Bonville's  fate,  she  sighed 
deeply.  "  It  is  true,*'  said  she,  "  he  has  perplexed 
me  with  many  vain  fears,  by  misrepresentation, 
but  could  he  have  lived,  I  would  freely  have 
forgiven  him.'* 

He  evidently  fell  a  victim  to  disappointed  pride 
and  remorse  at  the  remembrance  of  his  own 
baseness. 


. 


H 


i  f 


iil 


«i 


19 


218 


4   L  I   D  A  . 


CHAPTER  XXXI V. 

In  the  Almii»'!'y  Pow^r  he  placed  his  Iriist, 

Through  ail  the  ciiun^int;  tsreaieM  of  deep  distrv^s  ; 

His  furtiine  now  is  better  than  befure  ; 
Again  the  Omniscient  Hand  has  deigned  to  bless. 

Theodore's  father  was  soon  in  complete  re- 
possession of  Wis  former  property.  The  premises 
from  which  he  had  been  driven  by  his  creditors, 
were  yielded  up  without  difficulty,  to  which  he 
immediately  removed.  He  not  only  recovered 
the  principal  of  the  fortune  he  had  lost,  but  the 
damages,  with  the  interest ;  so  that,  although 
like  Job,  he  had  seen  aflliction,  like  him  his  lat- 
ter days  were  better  than  the  beginning. 
Wearied  of  the  business  of  life,  he  did  not  again 
enter  into  its  affairs,  but  placing  his  money  at 
interest  in  safe  hands,  he  Uvcd  retired  on  his 
estate. 

It  was  also  the  decided  choice  of  Theodore 
and  AliJa  to  reside  in  the  country.  The  cahn 
and  serene  pleasures  of  retirement  were  pr-rticu- 
J  uly  interesting  to  both,  and  they  were  supremely 
blest  in  each  other's  !?;ociety. 

The  parents  of  Theodore  rejoiced  at  their 
present  happiness,  and  took  upon  themselves  the 
necessary  preparations  for  their  nuptials.  Invi- 
tations >V€rc  once  more  ^eiit  abi(  Uc!  on  this  occa- 


A   L   I    DA. 


?10 


I. 


re- 
uses 


sion.  The  evening  before  tlje  day  lliis  intercvt- 
ing  event  was  to  take  place,  lliey  pns^^ed  at 
Raymond's.  The  next  morning  was  illumined 
with  the  bright  rays  of  the  sun,  that  shed  liis 
invigorating  lustre  over  the  landscape's  lovely 
green.  No  cross>purposes  stood  ready  to  inter- 
vene, to  disturb  their  repo?e,  or  interrupt  their 
tranquillity. 

It  was  the  latter  end  of  May — nature  was 
arrayed  in  her  richest  ornaments,  and  adorned 
with  her  sweetest  fragrance.  Silk-winged 
breezes  played  amidst  the  flowers,  and  spring 
birds  of  every  description  carolled  their  song  in 
varying  strains.  The  air  was  clear  and  salu- 
brious, and  the  scene  enchanting. 

Numerous  guests  were  assembled  at  the  house 
of  Albert;  Alida  was  introduced  into  the  bridal 
apartment,  and  took  her  seat  among  a  briUiant 
circle  of  ladies.  She  was  attired  in  a  white  robe ; 
her  hair  hung  gracefully  in  ringlets  over  her 
shoulders,  encircled  by  a  wreath  of  artificial 
flowers.  She  had  regained  much  of  her  former 
loveliness.  The  rose  and  the  lily  again  blended 
their  tinges  in  her  cheek — again  pensive  spright- 
liness  sparkled  in  her  eye. 

Theodore  was  introduced  and  took  a  seat  by 
her  side.     His  father  and  mother  came  next, 


<!: 


i.'T- 


220 


A  L  I   D  A. 


with  Albert   and    his  bride;    after  u..ich  the 
guests  were  summoned,  who  filled  the  room. 

The  officiating  clergyman  came  iii  the  even- 
ing, and  tied  those  bands  that  nought  but  death 
can  sever ;  after  which,  he  pronounced  these 
words:  "May  the  smiies  of  Heaven  rest  upon 
you  both ; — may  future  blessings  crown  your 
present  happy  prospects ;  and  may  your  latter 
days  be  peaceful" 

Alida  now  resumed  her  former  station.  The 
indissoluble  knot  was  tied — all  appeared  happy, 
and  mirth  and  hilarity  danced  in  cheerful  circles 
around  them. 

And  now,  reader  of  sensibili'y,  indulge  the 
pleasing  sensations  of  thy  bosom,  at  the  union 
of  Theodore  and  Alida.  After  this  interesting 
and  splendid  process  was  over,  Theodore  turned 
his  attention  to  future  prospects.  It  was  time 
to  select  a  place  for  a  domestic  residence.  He 
consulted  Alida,  and  she  exptessly  mentioned 
the  same  spot  they  had  fixed  upon  "  ere  fate  and 
fortune  frowned  severe." 

They  planned  the  structure  of  their  family 
edifice  on  the  site  formerly  marked  out,  where 
they  removed  the.  ensuing  summer. 

To  our  hero  and  heroine,  the  rural  charms 
of  the  country  fuinislied  a  source  cf  pleasing 
variety.     Spring,  with  its  verdant  fields   and 


1^ 


A  L  I  D  A. 


221 


i! 


the 


flcvvery  meads— summer,  with  its  embowering 
shades— the  fertility  of  autumn  with  its  yellow 
foHage — winter,  with  its  hollow  Masts  and  snowy 
mantle,  all  tended  to  fill  their  bosoms  with  sen- 
sations of  pleasing  transition.  But  as  neither 
could  find  happiness  in  selfish  pursuits,  thtir 
charity  and  benevolence  extended  to  all  around 
them.  They  generally  passed  their  mornings 
in  some  useful  employment  or  improving  stn.dy, 
while  the  afternoons  and  evenings  furnished 
them  with  rational  pleasure  and  relaxation. 

Their  religious  principles  were  the  same. 
They  were  a  constant  assistance  to  each  other 
in  the  fulfilment  of  their  pious  duties,  truly  en- 
deavouring to  follow  the  life  of  the  Redeemer, 
who  taught  by  his  example  and  practice,  what 
he  required  of  us.  Assiduously  cultivnting 
those  inijate  Christian  principles  and  perfections, 
best  calculated  to  promote  the  praise  and  glory  of 
God,  and  whereby  we  may  obtain  the  everlasting 
favour  of  that  ineffable  Disposer  of  all  things, 
in  wbom  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being. 

But  soon  a  mournful  shade  was  throw^n  over 
the  peaceful  tranquillity  of  this  happy  pair,  and 
manifest  was  their  grief,  when  they  received  thu 
dreadful  intelligence  that  Mr.  More  had  com- 
mitted suicide.     At  the  news  of  this  siufvcl 


1 


i 


22^5 


A  L  I  D  A. 


action,  they  were  thrown  into  a»  ahyss  of  sor- 
row, the  painful  remembrance  of  which,  for  a 
long  time  threw  a  dark  and  melancholy  cloud 
over  their  felicity; 


\ 


.■■;j.'";.ti 


INVOCATION   TO  PRAYER. 


MorDiDg. 

To  prayer,  to  prayer  ;  for  the  inorninp  breaks. 
And  eartli  in  her  Maker's  srnilc  awake:;. 
His  light  is  on  all,  below  and  above  ; 
The  light  of  gladness,  and  life,  and  love  ; 
Oh,  then,  on  the  breath  of  this  early  air, 
Ser  -  Mpward  the  incense  of  grateful  prayer. 

E  Y  6  n  i  II  g. 

To  prayer  ;  for  the  glorious  sun  is  gone. 
And  the  gathering  darkness  of  night  conies  on. 
Like  a  curtain,  from  God's  kind  hand  it  Hows, 
To  shade  the  coucii  where  his  children  repose ; 
Then  pray,  while  the  watching  stars  are  bright. 
And  give  your  last  thoughts  to  the  Guardian  of  night ! 

Sabbath. 

To  pray^    ;  fo  •  the  day  that  God  has  blest. 
Conies  t.  .  ,  ;  ,i.'\y  on  with  its  welcome  rest ; 
It  speaks  ot  e  option's  early  bUoni, 
It  speaks  of  the  Prince  who  burst  the  tomb. 
Then  summon  the  spirit's  exalted  powers. 
And  dcvotjc  to  Heaven  the  haliovcJ  hours  I 


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